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homoose · 4 years ago

Text

Through the Smoke

Request: could you do spencer x bau reader where they aren't dating yet but they both feel for each other? where both spencer and reader are very closed off people and the whole team knows that. but after one rough case on the flight back, they're both just exhausted mentally and physically and seek comfort in each other. then spend the night at reader's apartment and kiss for the first time there. sorry if this is specific but thank you (:

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst with a happy ending

Warnings/Includes: typical CM stuff, cults, kidnapping, violence, etc.

Word count: 8.1k

Music recs: Through the Fire by Jake Etheridge and Margot Todd; scared by Jeremy Zucker

a/n: anon, I have no idea if this is what you were looking for, but this is where it went. It’s a generous rewrite of 300, substituting the reader for Garcia. Also this blog operates with the understanding that the season 14 jeid arc does not exist lmao. JJ is firmly in the “I love you as a brother” camp and I will not be taking questions at this time. Also, this is a reminder that my requests are open! send me some fresh ideas, head cannons, rambles, whatever!

———

“Metro PD and the Bureau have been made aware of the Believers and possible activity following their leader’s arrest,” Prentiss confirmed, looking out over the team mingling in the bullpen. “But taking Theo at his word—”

“We only arrested three. There’s probably more out there, but if they follow cult dynamics, they’ll break down on their own without the messiah,” Matt finished.

“Typical cults: you think it’s a cast of thousands when really it’s just four whackos sitting around in the dark,” Tara mused.

Prentiss smiled. “I think we deserve some decompression time, and Rossi’s kind enough to host.”

Rossi leaned over the railing and nodded. “And I have some top shelf wine picked just for the occasion.”

The team started gathering their belongings and heading towards the elevators. Y/N hesitated, looking toward the case file still sitting on her desk. Something about how this had all wrapped up just… didn’t sit right. Her nearly five years with the Critical Incident Response Group had given her an up close view of some of the most prolific cults in American history. She’d studied Jonestown, Waco, Ruby Ridge, Liberty Ranch; new cults emerged onto CIRG’s radar regularly. And there was something about The Believers that just didn’t add up.

Y/N began shuffling things around on her desk, trying to look busy. She caught Spencer and JJ out of the corner of her eye, talking quietly. They ended their conversation with a hug, lingering just a little longer than Y/N would have preferred. She shook her head to try to physically clear the thought from her brain. She knew that Spencer had been through a lifetime’s worth of trauma before she joined the team, and that JJ had been an integral support for him. Y/N was also aware that she had zero grounds to be concerned with any of Spencer’s relationships, romantic or otherwise.

“Y/N, you coming?” JJ asked, walking toward her desk. Spencer headed out of the bullpen and down the hall.

Y/N gave her a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a little bit. Just wanted to finish up a couple things here.”

“Well, don’t stay too late.” JJ pressed her lips together for a moment before adding, “Maybe you and Spence could drive together. He said he might not make it, but if he had some company...”

Y/N hoped her immediate flush wasn’t too obvious. After nearly a year in the unit, she finally felt like she had built some solid relationships with the team, and Spencer was no exception. She relished their card games on the jet, the laughs over too-sweet coffee, discussions about books and films and music. But she also adored the way his hair sometimes curled and fell into his eyes, his animated and rambling tangents, the way his hands traced over the tiny print of his books. Most of her adult life had been spent surrounded by men who would gather up her trust in their pitted hands and crush it on a whim. She’d kept her heart behind glass for a long while, but Spencer was slowly chipping away at the fragile panels. She was certain he had no idea that he was even holding the chisel; but just about everyone else seemed to have figured it out. JJ, with her hands clasped together and an eager smile, definitely had. Y/N smiled, too. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“So we’ll see you in a bit?” When Y/N nodded, JJ gave her a warm smile and headed out.

Turning back to the case file, Y/N pressed her fingers to her temple and looked over the documents. Some of the pieces fit together, but the whole case felt littered with gaps and holes. The tale that Theo had woven about The Believers seemed true enough— his parents were simply the suppliers of potential cult members. Although, she still couldn’t figure out the reason for the kidnapping and torture. There were much easier ways to recruit vulnerable people.

She flipped past the pages of written statements and read over the report from the warehouse raid. It was short— the take down of Merva was too easy. Why was he sitting alone in an empty warehouse with only two unarmed, sleeping followers as a defense? Where was the rest of the cult? Matt was correct that most cults fall apart without their leader; unless the loss of a leader was a possibility they’d already prepared for.

The burns on Quinn’s hands didn’t make sense, either. Why use the initiation ritual as a torture device? Shouldn’t that be saved for people who had accepted the invitation? And then there was the one coincidence that nagged at her the most: what were the chances that Theo just happened to be enrolled in Spencer's course? Why did Spencer seem to be at the center of the whole thing?

Y/N sighed as her phone lit up with a message from JJ. She realized she’d been poring over the file for twenty-five minutes, and she had to laugh. As the least experienced profiler on the team, what could she possibly see that the others hadn’t? She closed the case file and quickly packed up, grabbing her jacket and bag and making her way toward the elevator lobby. She paused at the glass doors, retrieving her phone and pulling up Spencer’s contact information. Her thumb hovered over the call button for a long moment before she huffed out a breath. If even JJ hadn’t been able to convince him to go, there was no way she’d be able to change his mind. Despite herself, she glanced down the hall, allowing herself one moment to imagine an alternate timeline where she asked him to come along with her— to Rossi’s, to the moon, anywhere.

With a sigh, Y/N pushed open the glass doors and saw Agent Meadows leading Quinn to the elevator. She pushed down the little red flag in the back of her mind. As she stepped onto the elevator, she smiled politely at the two agents.

“I knew you didn’t do it. I just knew,” Meadows said to Quinn. She turned to Y/N. “And I can’t tell you what a privilege it’s been working with the A-Team on this case.”

Something about the calm in her voice made Y/N uneasy. “Yeah, it’s— um. It’s a great team to be a part of.” Her phone lit up again, this time with a phone call from JJ. “Okay, okay,” she muttered under her breath. Y/N answered the call, half an ear still listening to Meadows speak to Quinn. “Hey, I’m just leaving now.”

“Are you still at the BAU?” JJ demanded, voice low.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. But I’m in the elevator,” Y/N answered.

“Listen, we’re pretty sure Quinn was converted,” JJ told her. Y/N’s heart dropped into her shoes. “I need you to make sure he doesn’t leave that building. We’re coming back now. Where’s Spence?”

Y/N took a breath to try to even out her voice before speaking again. “Mom, we already talked about this. I don’t know.”

JJ paused. “Is Quinn in the elevator with you?”

“Yep.” JJ spoke quietly to someone on the other end of the phone. Y/N watched as the elevator dinged to the floor of the parking garage. “I’m going to have to hang up, mom. I’m gonna lose you, but I’ll try to take care of it tonight, okay?”

“Y/N, we’re on our—” The call dropped as the elevator hit the basement level.

Y/N took a deep breath to steady her voice. “Ugh, lost her.” She glanced at Meadows and Quinn, forced a smile and shrugged. “Elevators, right?”

The elevator doors began to open and Y/N stepped out, surreptitiously reaching for her holster. She had just lifted the strap when she heard the crack of metal hitting bone. Her face hit the concrete before she realized it was her own skull that bore the impact. She watched as her gun skidded across the parking lot floor, the taste of iron flooding her mouth. “Fuck,” she muttered, wincing in pain and scrambling up off the ground as a gunshot went off.

She didn’t feel the impact of the bullet. She looked down at her body, expecting to see a blooming rose of blood. She stared dumbly for a second too long, before remembering that she needed to get to her gun. Her hand instinctively went to her nose as she stumbled forward, coming away wet with blood.

“Stop, Agent Y/L/N.”

She heard the sound of a gun cocking, and then another. She closed her eyes and ran through an internal stream of curses. Raising her hands up, she turned slowly around. An older white man stood to her left, his gun trained on her. Meadows walked slowly towards her, lowering her own weapon. Quinn leaned against the back of the elevator, clutching his abdomen and blood staining the front of his shirt.

“Surprise,” Meadows sang, a sick smile spreading across her face. She stopped in front of Y/N, sweeping her hand in the direction of the man. “Now, John’s going to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. Get in the car.”

Y/N glanced in the direction of the vehicle, a dark sedan, driver armed to the teeth as well. “The team knows something’s up. You won’t make it out of this garage alive.”

Meadows laughed, loud and unhinged. “Oh honey. They’re not looking for lil ol’ me. And they sure as hell won’t be looking for an ambulance.” Her smile returned. “Plus, I already erased 299 murders from the Bureau’s radar. What’s a couple more? Now, shut up... and get in the car.”

Y/N moved to the open car door, keeping her back as straight as possible and her chin up, refusing to show them any cowardice. The barrel of the gun jabbed her in the back as she lowered herself into the vehicle. The door slammed shut, and in a moment, the gun was back on her, the man sitting next to her in the backseat. Y/N waited for the car to pull out, still trying to make sense of it all. Meadows was a Believer? What did she mean by “erased” 299 murders? Why would she blow her cover to shoot Quinn? Did she think that he had figured her out? Or that Y/N had? If that was the case, why not just shoot her? Why wasn’t the car moving?

“Drop your gun, Agent Reid,” Meadows’ muffled voice penetrated the inside of the vehicle. Y/N’s heart began to race. John dug the gun further into her side.

“It’s been you the whole time,” Spencer deduced.

“Yes, it was. Quinn somehow figured it out first. Pity having to shoot him,” Meadows mocked. “But he can’t give me what I want. And you can.”

“What’s that?” Y/N’s brain scrambled to put the pieces together as she listened to the exchange. Spencer was at the heart of it after all. It was right there, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Meadows continued, “You and I are going to go upstairs and free my Messiah.”

“You’re in the heart of the FBI. As soon as the rest of my team figures out it’s you, you’ll be dead before you’re out the door.” Y/N hoped to god that he was right.

“Then we need to work quickly.”

“I’m not going to cooperate with you,” Spencer told her. “Might as well shoot me.” Y/N didn’t even have time to panic before the car shifted into drive.

“I have a better idea.” On Meadows’ cue, the driver squealed out of the parking space and into Spencer’s line of sight. His eyes fell on Y/N, hands nearly pressed against the window, John’s gun pointed at her head. “Now, what’s it gonna be? Because you can either join us, or she dies.”

Y/N tried to radiate her rage through her eyes and screamed, “Reid, just shoot her! Shoot her!” The last thing she saw before the second crack of steel against her skull was the hesitation in Spencer’s eyes.

⧭⧭⧭

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open and she groaned at the pounding of her head, the rhythm of her heartbeat throbbing in the space behind her ears. She tried to lift her hand to check for blood, only to strain against the hold of a zip tie attached to the base of the chair. Instead, she surveyed the room around her. A warehouse, lots of shipping containers, and even more men— this time armed with assault rifles and machine guns. One stood at the entrance point of the small area she was being kept in.

She worked through her memory, putting the pieces together. Meadows was a Believer, had been for quite some time to pull all of this off. Quinn wasn’t special, he just got in the way of her real target. Ben Merva might have been the messiah, but Spencer Reid was clearly just as important to whatever mission they were carrying out. Every twisting thread of information somehow traced back to him: Theo in his class, Quinn’s attachment to him, Meadows’ demand that he be the one to free Merva.

“Good, you’re awake.” Meadows strode through the space with a laptop in hand. “I need your handiwork.”

Y/N stared at her. “Is that so?’

Meadows set the laptop on the barrel in front of Y/N and then leaned down to cut the zip tie. “Besides being my collateral for the good doctor, you’re also going to help me access CIRG’s surveillance data.”

“Fuck you.” Y/N spat on Meadows’ shoes. “I’m doing nothing for you.” Her head rolled back, eyes piercing daggers into Meadows. “You should just kill me now, because this is a waste of your time. And I’m sure you know the A-Team isn’t going to waste theirs.”

Meadows narrowed her eyes and gave a theatrical sigh. “I should’ve known you’d make this difficult.” She nodded to John, standing at the entranceway.

Y/N spat again, this time to rid her mouth of the taste of blood. She steeled herself for the next onslaught, compartmentalizing every emotion outside of her fury. Her mind raced to salvage and scrutinize the memories from her time in CIRG, trying desperately to identify what Meadows could be looking for in the surveillance reports. The Believers hadn’t even been on the Bureau’s radar. The reason had to be linked to their interest in Spencer… a piece of information that involved both Spencer Reid and the existing surveillance data. A single grain that could bring the whole damn bushel down.

She heard a scuffle at the entrance of the room and raised her head. Her heart jumped into her throat at the sight of Spencer, bloodied and bruised. John dragged him into the room, throwing him down onto his knees in front of Y/N. His eyes tracked over her face and clouded over with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“Shit, Reid—”

“I’m fine—I’m sure it looks worse than it is,” he murmured. The concern in his eyes told Y/N she looked about as bad as she felt. “Are you all right?”

“I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known—”

“No,” Spencer interrupted. “This isn’t your fault. We all missed it.”

“What’s the end game here?” Y/N asked. “What’re they doing?”

“I’m going to be their last victim.” Spencer shook his head, barely able to keep himself upright. “I don’t know why, but I overheard them. There have been hundreds.”

Meadows stepped up behind Spencer, grinning at Y/N. “Have you changed your mind? I sure hope you have.” She raised her gun to his head. “Because if you don’t do what I want, I’ll blow his big, beautiful brains out.”

Spencer locked eyes with Y/N. She held his gaze for a moment, then tilted her head slightly as the gears started turning. The tie between Spencer and Benjamin was where it all unraveled. “No, I don’t think you will.”

Meadows’ grin faltered for less than a second, but it was long enough that Y/N knew she was right. “Is that right?” Meadows questioned.

“Yeah, it is.” She furrowed her brow, and Spencer looked at her. “You need him, don’t you? Alive.” Meadows’ tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Y/N was sure. “Because this isn’t just about Benjamin Merva. It’s about Benjamin Cyrus. It’s about Liberty Ranch.”

Meadows held her gaze for five seconds, then ten seconds. Y/N raised her chin, refusing to be the one to blink first. Meadows shifted the trajectory of her gun a foot to her right and fired off one shot. The breeze from the bullet shifted Y/N’s hair.

“You have two minutes to decide,” Meadows advised. The phone in her hand began ringing. “The next one won’t miss.” She answered the phone and stepped out.

Spencer spoke quickly. “Do whatever she’s asking. We have to get you out of here.”

“Reid, are your eyes broken?” Y/N snapped. “There’s a cult loyalist with a machine gun every five feet. You got a plan for that?”

“Listen to me.” His voice was calm, determined. “You’re right about them wanting me alive.”

The frustration bled through Y/N’s voice. “You should have just shot her.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that.”

“You could’ve shot all three of them and ended this in the garage,” Y/N argued.

“And then I would have watched you die,” he said quietly. “That was never even an option.”

“I’m failing to see how that would have been any worse than this. Look at us.” She gestured wildly between them. She watched as the storm of emotion returned, a cyclone swirling in seas of gold and brown. “The team needs you. Spencer, I—” I need you. She reached a hand up, almost touching his face before dropping it back in her lap. He had found the chink in her carefully constructed armor; a fissure he’d fractured a little further with every smile, every look, every moment. All at once she knew she’d never be able to keep him out, no matter how much it might hurt.

“You’ve got one minute,” Meadows barked, hovering over them.

“Y/L/N, listen to me… Please...” Spencer’s voice was thick with tears. “Tell my mom—” The phone rang again, and Meadows stepped away to answer it. Spencer dropped to a whisper. His eyes flashed with urgency. “They’re taking me and Theo. We’ll distract them. The car we were in is right outside the door. We’re 18 minutes from Quantico. Turn left outside the parking lot, take a right at the light, you’ll recognize the rest. They stay off the highways.”

Y/N’s voice was frantic when she asked, “What about you?”

His eyes pleaded with her to respect what he was asking her to do. “I’ll delay them. Get the rest of the team back here. And do not worry about me.” John hauled up him off the floor.

“Time’s up.” Meadows, in a rare display of mercy, allowed them a hug.

Spencer leaned into her and Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She squeezed as hard as she could and whispered his name. She felt him take a deep breath into her hair, holding it for one impossibly long moment. Just before she released her hold on him, he mumbled, “It’s all happening. 10:23.” John dragged him back out the way they’d came.

“I gave you what you wanted.” Meadows ordered, “Get to it. Now.”

⧭⧭⧭

Y/N worked and waited, then watched and worried. Spencer spoke to Meadows. He was stalling her, offering a deal, boosting her ego, granting Y/N the opportunity to mentally prepare. But no matter how much time he gave her, she would never be prepared to leave him in that warehouse. He met her eyes across the movements of the operation and gave her an imperceptible nod before lunging forward to reach for John’s gun.

Chaos exploded throughout the warehouse. Theo ran in one direction, accosted by half a dozen Believers. Spencer and John tussled over the gun, one fighting for control and the other fighting the inevitable. Y/N sprinted, largely unnoticed, toward the huge sliding doors left slightly ajar. Bursting out into the night air, she immediately spotted one of the black sedans, unbelievably unlocked and with the keys in the ignition. She slammed the door behind her, turned the key, hesitated with her eyes on the door and her mind on Spencer for one moment too long. A single gunshot sounded from inside the warehouse.

Meadows raced out of the doorway, gun drawn. “Stop!” She pointed her gun at Y/N and there was nothing to do but step on the gas. Y/N had her eyes wide open as Meadows bounced off the windshield and onto the asphalt. She didn’t look back.

She drove. Left out of the parking lot. Just a dark, rural road—nothing particularly special or descript. She drove. Right at the stoplight. Then it was, just as Spencer said, familiar terrain. She wondered how it was possible to have seemed so far away— a world away— when it was right under their proverbial nose. She drove.

Her brain navigated of its own volition. Her mind couldn’t have been farther from the inside of the vehicle. She didn’t realize she’d arrived at the Bureau until she was attempting to pull into her usual parking spot, only to be met with her own abandoned car.

She turned the car off, left the keys in the ignition, and nearly floated out into the garage; up the elevator; across the cold floors of the lobby. Her body had walked this same path so many times before; it carried her without hesitation. She could hear the voices of the team, drifting through the open glass doors.

“She accepted their help knowing she would betray the government,” Tara deduced.

“Not every survivor wanted help,” JJ clarified.

Rossi continued, “We ran those who left the ranch and kept their names. A few relocated in rural Maryland and Virginia.”

“They could be helping now,” Luke suggested. “Any of them have large pieces of property?”

“A few,” Emily confirmed. Y/N turned the corner as she continued, “The Washington field office has started searches in Maryland. We’ll take the lead in Virginia.”

As she moved into the doorway, JJ’s eyes went wide and she rushed to Y/N’s side. “Oh my god, are you hurt?” She gently grabbed Y/N by the shoulders.

“It’s a warehouse in Hillcrest,” Y/N said flatly, eyes unfocused. “I can take you there, but we have to hurry. They hurt Reid; he looked— bad. He told me to r-run and take the car, but he’s still there.” Everyone headed for the doors except JJ and Garcia. “They won’t be there long, they have lots of trucks.” Y/N’s eyes locked on JJ, and for the first time since the whole ordeal started, she allowed herself to splinter, just a little. “I heard a gunshot. JJ, I heard a gunshot. I tried—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” JJ nodded, drawing her into a hug. “I know. I know you tr—”

“I left him there.” Her voice broke, but she couldn’t cry. Not yet. “I couldn’t get him. There was no way to save hi—”

“Stop,” JJ ordered, pulling out of the hug. “Y/N, look at me. You got out, you got back to us. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t even know about the warehouse.”

“What if— what if I got him killed?” Y/N asked.

“You didn’t get anyone killed. Spence knew what he was doing.” JJ’s voice softened. “That’s what he does. He always figures things out before the rest of us. He has a plan and getting you back to Quantico was part of it.” She raised her eyebrows, making sure Y/N was listening. “And now we have to help him by putting the rest of it together.”

Y/N ran a hand over her face. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right.”

Garcia stepped forward and laid a hand on her arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Then we’ll get Reid back.”

They cleaned the blood from her face and hair as best they could in the bathroom sink. JJ patched up the lacerations with steri-strips. Back in the conference room, Garcia insisted she should get screened for a concussion as Y/N rubbed the knot on the back of her head. “There’s no time. Reid said, ‘It’s all happening. 10:23.’”

“But it’s past that,” JJ considered.

“So what did he mean?” Garcia asked.

“Could be a clue here.” Rossi's voice came over the speakerphone from inside the warehouse. “They got sloppy since they left in a hurry.”

“Okay, well you can’t be that far behind them,” JJ insisted.

“I know,” Emily agreed. “But there’s easy access to three major highways, and we don’t know which way they went.”

“Right, but they’re in tractor trailers. That means we can track them through weigh stations.”

“Garcia?” Emily prompted.

“In order to do that, I’d need the transponder identification numbers,” Garcia answered.

“Which we have no way of knowing,” Rossi sighed. “Everything they used was almost definitely forged.”

“We’re going to do another sweep here, and then we’ll head back,” Emily said. “Try to map out the most likely routes they’d use to get out of dodge.”

JJ hung up and looked to Y/N. “What do you remember about the warehouse?”

Y/N pressed her fingers into her temples. “It was full of supplies. They were disguising them, but they had stockpiles of weapons and ammunition; non-perishables and other food items; water. Enough to be off the grid for at least a year.” Y/N leaned back in her chair. “But it wasn’t just about The Believers. I mean, we know they’re a reincarnation of the Separatarian Sect.” She looked at JJ and Garcia. “It was more than that, though. Reid was at the center of everything; he was the target all along. Merva is the messiah, but it somehow all comes back to Spence.”

“Makes sense. They blame him for the downfall of the Sect,” JJ supplied.

“Yeah.” Y/N cracked her knuckles. “But—and I can’t—I can’t really explain it, but Meadows really wanted to kill Reid right then. She was— she was irritated, more than anything else.”

“So what stopped her?” Garcia asked.

“That’s what I can’t figure out. She threatened me with it, with ‘blowing his brains out,’ but I— called her bluff. And she was pissed.” Y/N rapped her knuckles on the table. “I mean, really, really furious. Which tells me that, even though she wanted to, she couldn’t kill him.” She looked between the two of them. “Merva was pulling the strings, and he wouldn’t let her do it there.”

“So it matters where the final sacrifice takes place,” JJ concluded. “We’ve got to figure out where they’re going.”

⧭⧭⧭

They’d been rehashing the details over and over. Liberty Ranch, The Strangler investigation, The Believers, Meadows, Merva, Cyrus, 300 victims, the hyoid bones, all of it. About the only thing they knew for sure was how far the cult could get in the trucks. Spencer could have told them the exact square mileage, but the potential geographical range of the trucks was dauntingly large. Y/N tried not to panic as she stared at the map.

“If this is about a Believer's rebirth, babies are born with 300 bones,” JJ said. “And they’re taking the hyoids.”

“And the hyoids we had in evidence are missing, which means Merva needed them back,” Tara reasoned. “And that means they mean more to the end game than we thought.”

Y/N felt her patience waning. “But why did Reid need us to know it all happens at 10:23?” Y/N hated that her voice sounded snappy and desperate. “That’s got to be important. It’s the last thing he said to me.”

Matt put his hand on her shoulder. “Listen, you’re right. It means something to him. We’re trying to figure it out.”

“Yeah, well, we better figure it out soon.” Y/N shrugged off his hand, pushed back from her seat at the conference room table, and turned for the door. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Every minute they spent floating ideas was another mile between them and Spencer. Another moment closer to losing him. She shoved the bathroom door open, hurrying into the stall and emptying the contents of her stomach.

She slumped back against the side of the stall, head gently knocking into the cool metal. She needed to pull herself together. The team was always strongest when they did their group think sessions, building upon each other’s knowledge and perspectives and filling in the gaps. If they’d done more of that earlier— if she’d had the confidence to call it out as soon as she saw the holes, Spencer might not be locked in the back of a truck, hundreds of miles away.

Y/N hoisted herself off the ground and out of the stall. She braced her hands on the counter top and tried to breathe evenly. She turned on the water and splashed her face, tapping against her cheeks. With water dripping down the planes of her face, she stared herself down in the mirror, willing her tired brain to make that last connection, to find that missing thread. It was all about the Benjamins, and she had a feeling that Cyrus was the key.

Y/N rolled her shoulders back and made her way to the conference room. She listened to their rotating conversation, knowing that this team was the only group of people capable of getting Spencer back alive.

“We have confirmation that there’s been no activity in or around the old ranch,” Matt informed them, pocketing his phone.

“If this is about rebirth, they’ll choose a new place,” Luke posited, arms crossed.

Tara leaned over the table. “Given their adoration of Cyrus and his love for the country, he’d want them to stay within our borders.”

“But Benjamin Cyrus wasn’t his real name, and he wasn’t born into the Sect,” Y/N reminded them quietly. Everyone turned to look at her. She gave an apology grimace to Matt. He just shrugged and smiled, motioning her over to the table.

Garcia nodded. “Right, let’s see. Uh, he and his mom arrived there when he was a teenager. He was kicked out for molesting girls. And then he served time in prison in Kentucky.”

“And that’s where he found religion,” Y/N recalled, thinking back to the report she’d studied dozens of times. “So he was reborn as Benjamin Cyrus in Kentucky.” She closed her eyes and flipped through her mental file cabinet, looking for 10:23.

“That’s within the area,” Garcia confirmed. “Maybe that’s where they’re headed?”

“Find out what city he was born in or where he was in prison,” Luke said. “We’ll spread out from there.”

“He found religion,” Y/N repeated, mostly to herself. “Chapter ten, verse twenty-three. 10:23 isn’t a time.” Y/N shook her head and then dragged her hand through her hair. “It’s scripture.”

“Let’s get in the air; we can narrow down which verse and city before we land,” Emily instructed.

⧭⧭⧭

“We’re approaching Kentucky; the pilot needs to know where to touch down,” Rossi informed them.

The team was scattered throughout the jet, scrolling through scripture on their tablets, reading out verses. Y/N held her chin in her hand, eyes unfocused, dragging a net along the furthest corners of her mind.

“Hey guys, listen to this,” JJ said. “Matthew chapter ten, verse twenty-three: ‘When you are persecuted in one place, flee to another.’”

“They’re going to the next town,” Emily said.

“Flee to the next town. But which one?” asked Garcia.

“Their end game is also a new beginning,” Rossi explained. “Cyrus brought religion back to the cult. They’d honor that by wanting to start fresh.”

Y/N raised her head. “Like the Garden of Eden.”

“That’s how 300 fits,” Tara concluded. “That was the number of angels that protected the Garden of Eden. Are there any Edens in Kentucky?”

The sound of Garcia tapping across the keyboard came through the laptop. “Um, no, but there are two synonyms: Canaan and Arcadia.”

“Cyrus is the original messiah. Which one is closer to where he was born?” Y/N asked.

“Arcadia,” Garcia informed them.

Y/N stood up. “That’s where they’re going.”

“Garcia, pull land deeds. I’ll notify SWAT,” Emily instructed.

JJ grabbed Y/N’s hand. “We’re going to get him.”

Y/N met her eyes. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

⧭⧭⧭

The new compound proved easy to find. In the middle of nowhere but illuminated by hundreds of lights, there were rows and rows of tents. The team began strategizing, looking for the best route to Spencer.

Emily tried to convince Y/N, now showing clear concussion symptoms, to stay with the SUVs.

“With all due respect, there is no way in hell that I’m going to sit in this car while Reid gets sacrificed by a homicidal cult leader,” Y/N said. There was a hushed pause, the team exchanging knowing glances.

“Fair enough,” Emily conceded. “Matt and JJ, I want you on the left side. Luke and Tara, the right. Dave and Y/N, you’re with me. We’re clearing every tent; eliminate any threat that would give away your position.” She unholstered her gun and swept her eyes across the team. “Our objective is to extract Reid with minimal loss.”

As they approached the first line of tents, Y/N could faintly hear Spencer speaking. “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” Her heart hammered against her ribcage. “A time to be born and a time to die.” She could feel the blood rushing through her ears. “A time to weep and a time to pluck up that which has been planted.”

“Okay, he’s stalling,” Meadows snapped. “That’s enough!”

“All right. Let the sacrifice begin.” That was Merva now, riling up the followers. “Protect us from all harm.”

As Merva led The Believers in a monotone chant, Y/N tried to block it out. She scanned a tent, watched as SWAT took out a bodyguard, looked for Spencer. Rinse and repeat, again and again. It was taking too long.

“And we thank Our Guardian, who will protect this family now and always,” Merva’s voice rang out. “Spencer: keeper of provisions!” Y/N saw the gathering of followers, but she couldn’t see Spencer.

The SWAT commander stopped them. They had reached the final line of tents. He signaled to the leaders on each side. They were ready to strike.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the crowd. She could just barely make out some sort of hanging mobile, white u-shaped decorations suspended from string. The hyoids, she realized, a wave of nausea hitting her like a truck.

Merva continued, “You have given selflessly to others and will be rewarded by the highest honor we could bestow. Your blood will be our blood. Your life will fuel ours.”

A gunshot rang out. The followers gasped. There was a split second of calm before the bedlam. Y/N took a single breath. Then she heard Matt yell; saw John lift his rifle and be felled by a solo shot to the head; watched Luke take down another bodyguard directly after.

And then she saw him. Strapped down under a canopy of bones, Spencer was silent and unmoving. He didn’t struggle. He didn’t call out. And there was Merva, knife in hand— still trying to complete his mission.

She didn’t vacillate, barely breathed, just let her legs carry her forward. She heard Emily call out his name. When Merva turned, the curved blade of the knife poised at the column of Spencer's throat, Y/N’s trigger finger compressed. She felt the gun recoil, felt the force of the shot travel up her arm as she put a single bullet in his chest. As he fell, she didn’t stop, just stepped over him, knew one of the others would take care of it.

She tripped over the small platform Spencer was restrained on, stumbling and holstering her gun. Her hands moved over the straps, loosening the one over his waist, then the ones at his hands, finally pushing the leather from his head. He panted and muttered his thanks, but she didn’t dare speak, afraid that if she did, she’d never be able to stop. Instead, she flung her arms over his shoulders, pulling him down and close and over her heart. She wondered if he could feel the way it pummeled against her chest, because to her it felt like it might smash through at any moment. His arms came around her, chin resting on her shoulder, nose in her hair. She heard him inhale and hold his breath, a mirror of that last moment together in the warehouse. She held onto him as an overboard sailor holds a life ring: single-minded, unrelenting, desperate.

There was a touch on her opposite shoulder and Y/N swung around, adrenaline still racing through her veins. JJ put her hand out in a placating motion, and Y/N came back to herself, allowing JJ to step forward and help Spencer off the platform. Y/N let out a breath and reached a hand out to steady herself, only to flinch when it brushed one of the straps that had held Spencer down. Luke caught her on one side, Tara on the other. She grasped at them, her emotions teetering right along with her physical form. Luke pulled her out from under the macabre canopy and into a hug. Tara held her hand. For the first time since the parking garage, she let herself go.

⧭⧭⧭

The jet was quiet. The team was spread out around the cabin, each of them lost in their own heads. There was a tranquility over the space, one that only ever happened when unmitigated relief overwhelmed even the joy or fulfillment of a life saved.

Y/N sat in one of the single seats, across the aisle from where Spencer was settled. Tara and Luke had finally convinced her to get checked out by the EMTs, who had confirmed her concussion. She convinced herself that the fuzziness on the corners of her vision was just a symptom of that, not a product of the tears she was struggling to hold back.

The team each stopped by Spencer’s seat, patting his shoulder, squeezing his hand, or in Rossi’s case, gently ruffling his hair. They all spoke briefly in hushed, grateful tones. All except Y/N. She couldn’t formulate a sentence that seemed adequate. There was simultaneously too much and nothing to say. Everything felt contrived or insufficient or intemperate.

Spencer was safe. They hadn’t been too late. He was bruised and undoubtedly sore, but ultimately, he’d been through worse. So why was her heart still aching? Why couldn’t she catch her breath? She hadn’t spoken more than a few words since leaving the raid, so why did her throat feel like it was on fire? She closed her eyes, leaned her head back. She incessantly pressed her hands together, trying to crack her sore knuckles over and over again.

A pair of hands gently closed over her own, stopping the abuse, and she didn’t have to open her eyes to know who they belonged to. His thumbs stroked over the backs of her hands and she cursed the tears that spilled over her bottom lashes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t force her to look at him or acknowledge her shattering. He waited her out, rubbing a rhythm on her skin and steadying her without a word. She opened her eyes but couldn’t bring herself to look at him just yet. Instead she focused on their joined hands, reciprocating the gentle pulses he gave every so often.

She turned her head to wipe her wet cheeks on her shoulder as the landing announcement came over the cabin speaker. She did look at him then, and the emotion in his gaze left her feeling raw and exposed. Their hands reluctantly separated to buckle their seat belts. Y/N closed her eyes again, turning her face into the warmth of the early morning sun as the jet began its descent.

When they landed, everyone wearily shuffled off the plane, eager to get home to their beds. Penelope met them at the elevator, enveloping Spencer in a long hug, the rest of the team smiling at their embrace. They each moved through the bullpen, gathering their things and talking quietly. Y/N’s eyes paused on her bag, brought up from the parking garage by one of the team after she’d gone missing. They lingered for a long moment on the case file, still sitting where she’d left it hours ago, before she let herself let it go. She grabbed her bag and turned to see Spencer standing in the aisle, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on her.

“Hey,” she said dumbly.

He smiled. “Hi.”

Her hands wrung the straps of her bag. “How—how’re you holding up?”

“I’ve been worse.” He shrugged. “How’s your head?”

“I’ve been worse,” she agreed.

“That’s good. Because I think after all that, the least you could do is give me a ride home,” he joked.

Y/N knew he was trying to reassure her that he was fine, but she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. If anything, his attempts to provide comfort made her feel worse. Because she couldn’t forget the sound of the gunshot at the warehouse, the sight of the knife at his throat, the feeling of nearly losing someone whom she knew she could love if she just had more time. Too exhausted to hide her emotions, she could tell by the change in Spencer’s eyes that the pain was apparent on her face.

“Actually, you probably shouldn’t be driving, even if it’s just a mild concussion. Where are your keys?”

“It’s fine. I’m all ri—” Y/N started.

“I know I phrased that as a question, but I’m not really asking.” He held out his hand.

Normally she would have argued, but she just didn’t have the energy. Y/N dug into her bag, fishing out the keys and dropping them into his hand. He closed his fingers around them and jerked his head toward the door. “Come on,” he murmured. He waved to the rest of the team, and Y/N nodded, avoiding their eyes.

The ride in the elevator was silent. The walk to the car, too. They were pulling out of the garage before Spencer finally broke the silence.

“You know this wasn’t your fault, right?” he asked. Y/N stayed quiet. “We all missed the connection to Liberty Ranch.”

“But I knew something was off, and I didn’t say anything. I— I almost came to find you before I left, and if I had just done that—”

“Y/N,” Spencer interrupted. “The plan was already in motion. Meadows and Merva would have just figured out another way to execute it.” His fingers tightened on the wheel. “And without you and the leads from the warehouse, the team might not have figured it out in time.”

Y/N opened her mouth before realizing she didn’t have a response. She didn’t even want to consider that possibility. She leaned her head against the window, pressing the thumb and fingers of one hand into her eyes to stave off the throbbing.

Graciously, Spencer let her remain in silence the rest of the ride to her apartment. There was so much to say, especially now; she didn’t know where to begin. And even after everything, she couldn’t stop herself from bringing up that wall— protecting herself from what she knew could hurt her more than any unsub.

They pulled onto her street, fairly empty at such an early hour. Spencer parked in front of her apartment, opening the car door and coming around the other side of the car. She expected him to give her the keys, but as she exited the car, he waited by the gate for her. “I’ll walk you up.”

Spencer opened the gate, allowing her to walk through before closing it behind them and following her up the sidewalk. “I need the keys,” she told him.

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Right, right.” He placed them into her outstretched hand, and she wondered if she imagined his fingers lingering over hers.

When they reached her door, she unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open, stepping over the threshold. He waited outside, hands in his pockets. Y/N rolled her keys in her hand, and Spencer watched them.

“Um— thank you for—” Y/N started.

“I told Emily on the jet, and I’ll tell you now.” Spencer raised his eyes to meet hers. There was that look again, the one she couldn’t quite identify. “I’ve always had a hard time saying what I feel. And maybe sometimes it’s because I’m afraid of being disappointed. But sometimes it’s because the words I’m looking for don’t exist in the English language.”

“Spence—”

“Please just let me get this out,” he said. “There have been a couple moments over the past few months where I thought maybe we were sharing mamihlapinatapei.”

“Mamih what?” Y/N asked.

“Mamihlapinatapei.” He repeated, gesturing with his hands. “It’s a Yagan word that originates on the Tierra del Fuego archipelago off the southern tip of Argentina. It translates succinctly as ‘the wordless, meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something, but are both reluctant to do so.’”

“Oh.” Y/N felt a flush rising up in her cheeks.

Suddenly, Spencer couldn’t meet her eyes. “I, um—I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendship or make things awkward at work. But last night, I… I just— I’ve had too many moments in my life where I thought it might be my last, and I hadn’t said all the things I needed to say.” He met her eyes again, and there was that familiar storm. “Last night I was out of time, and I hadn’t told you how I feel, and I realized that I wouldn’t get another chance, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but I needed to—”

Y/N stepped forward, grabbed the front of his shirt, and crashed their mouths together. She tried to pour everything into the kiss: every blush, every worry, every laugh, every panicked moment, every mamihlapinatapei. Spencer cradled her face in his hands, opening his mouth and capturing her bottom lip, accepting everything she gave him. She wound one of her hands into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer and grounding herself to this new reality that almost wasn’t. The height of the kiss tapered off, and Y/N drew back, untangling her fingers from his hair and her heart from his grasp. Spencer watched her carefully, honey eyes uncertain.

“I do. Feel the same,” Y/N confirmed. Spencer’s lips twitched. “I’m not good at vulnerability. I’ve got a great track record of getting hurt.” Spencer grabbed her hand and opened his mouth, but Y/N continued, “But then I thought we might lose you, that time was out, and that I— I wouldn’t get the chance to see if you could be— if this could be more.” She gestured between them and then met his eyes again. “And I guess being vulnerable isn’t so bad in comparison. Because I think I could fall in love with you. I think maybe it’s already happening.” She held her breath and pressed her lips together, fighting the regret of saying too much.

“Actually, there’s a word for that, too.” Spencer smiled, warm and soft and genuine. “Forelsket. The origin is Norwegian, and it roughly translates to ‘the euphoria experienced as you begin to fall in love.’”

“Forelsket?” Y/N asked.

“Well, it’s more like forelsket,” Spencer corrected.

“Wow, okay, 187.” Y/N laughed for the first time in what felt like days. “Forelsket.”

“Better,” Spencer praised. “There’s also the Tagalog version, kilig.”

Y/N took a step closer to him and smoothed his shirt where her hands had wrinkled it. “Translation?”

“‘The sudden feeling of an inexplicable joy one gets when something romantic happens,’ or alternatively ‘the feeling of butterflies in your stomach.’” Spencer moved his hand to her waist and stepped over the threshold.

Y/N cupped his cheek in her hand, soothing the bruises and guiding him back to her. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds #homoose writes

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simonalkenmayer · 3 years ago

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I don’t get the problem. I’ve been here a while and I still can’t figure out why anyone started hate blogging about you or kept it up after they saw you talk. I don’t get what’s happening in their heads. What is their problem?

To be quite blunt, I don't know the answer to that.

There have always been bullies and always will be, and this has been a fascinating way of observing them, but in all honestly, I still don't comprehend what motivates it entirely. As near as I can tell...they're just miserable people.

So here's how it began. Over four years ago, I began seeing comments from the isdead blog in the notes of my posts. They were obviously meant to be passive aggressively pretentious, to get my attention. So one day, I said "oh not him again" or something like that. He replied. After a moment, I went to him privately and explained that i didn't want him to use my pen name in his URL. I gave a list of reasons including his safety. For each one he had an explanation as to why I should be flattered, or why I deserved it. Any objection i raised got explained away in a way that allowed him to justify keeping his brilliant choice of name (he made sure to tell me exactly what he thought it meant over my objection). I said that I might press legal action if he didn't respect my wishes. He didn't care. In fact, he mocked me for it. I let it alone, because an international case of copyright infringement is both difficult to win, and also would out me to the world. But really he was the perfect candidate to study as a bully, because of how he began to behave.

Shortly after this private conversation, he turned his blog into a "critique" of me, though he never actually read any of my published work until just over a year ago, because he "didn't want to give me money" (never mind the books were free). In actuality, his critique of me was to read subtext into literally everything I produced, obtusely misread whole paragraphs, insert emotion where none existed, nitpick my grammar, accuse me of every single thing he could think of over these last nearly five years, and conduct himself as hypocritically as possible. I can't make heads or tales of his reasoning. Frankly, I don't think there is one. He began it on a whim because he didn't like that I asked him to stop, and spent the intervening time building justifications for why he is right to "talk shit". He even went so far as to say I should have known better, when someone sent me explicit sexual content I specifically said I didn't want. He also denied any responsibility he bears for the various things that have been done, like fire starting or sending me poisonous food. I'm sure he's completely blameless, never mind he's made his blog a rallying point for people who are also bullies and have threatened to stalk me on his very blog, in his very ask box. he thinks that because he gave a tacit "Oh don't do that because it's illegal" that means he has no responsibility. I beg to differ, but that is beside the point, because I came to study and online bullying was one I knew I could see with this experimental model. Didn't quite expect it to look like that, but...beggars can't be choosers.

I thought at first they'd figure out they were being studied, but they never did. So finally, when someone else brought it up because they spotted it, I thought to myself, I might as well tell them and see what they do. So I did. I told them. Flat out. "You're being studied as bullies in an online social task-based network." I even gave a small crash course in Group Dynamics and Narcissists within a group who decide to occupy blocking roles. They replied with conjecture that my experiment was fake? Why? Because they can't possibly be the bullies, I suppose. It wasn't a fake.

Essentially, they've accused the owner of this blog of every crime under heaven, including grooming minors, because I once gave a 17 year old advice on how to fill out a FAFSA. If I was one quarter as bad as they've made me out to be after six years on Tumblr trying to find fault with me, then I'd already have been arrested. Yet here i am, actually just sitting here, doing the same thing I've always done, regardless of them and their petulance. The truth is, I've not done a damn thing, and this annoys them, so they have to invent outrage and farm for righteousness. They need me to be a villain they can vanquish, because they know without that tag of righteousness, they're just bullies, targeting someone online, behaving like school children.

It was fascinating and interesting when I was actively studying it, but now it's just flat out stupid and I don't have patience for it. I'm no longer recording their blogs. I'm no longer gathering data on them. I no longer care. So of course they're going to come visit me more than ever and make passive aggressive remarks.

That's what this is. Here's a perfect metaphor: I moved into the neighborhood. Someone saw me, thought I might be "cool" and stole my look. I didn't notice. They decided to get my attention. They'd leave me passive aggressive post it notes on my door about my lawn gnomes. I told them not to come onto my property because it's mine, and they decided this made me satan and spent almost five years looking out their window at my house so they could punish me every time I watered my yard, or painted my trim an odd color. We have the same flags in our yards. We have the same gnomes even, but here this person is, going around gossiping to neighbors, because he's bored and I told him no, so long ago. The ability to sustain and manufacture outrage would be impressive if I wasn't so bored of it.

And let's not even bring up the Tupperware, how it supposedly makes me antisemitic, and why me joking about how fucking ridiculous that is also makes me antisemitic. Or how refusing to call him a fool makes me transphobic. Or that saying I'm studying racism in fiction makes me racist. Or that trying to out-logic a TERF makes me a terf? I can't keep track of any of it anymore. It's all just contortionist nonsense of the cerebrum because they're all petty bullies who need a fix. I'm ableist because I won't TL;DR my private thoughts on my blog. I'm ableist because I asked DID people to tell me what it was like for them so that I could understand it better. It's all just...so stupid. I'm a villain for doing good things. I'm damned whether or not I do.

So...nothing I can do.

There's no fixing them. They have to decide that they want to stop, and they won't do that as long as this endeavor gives them something to feel self-righteous about. I'd argue the world has enough of a supply for them to find a real thing to argue against, but apparently since I represent every bad thing on the earth, I'll do.

I'm not going to apologize for existing. For doing my experiment. For putting out surveys. For studying bullying, or fiction, or viral communication. I won't apologize for getting paid for my work. I won't apologize for being candid. I won't apologize for asking for help, for not knowing everything, for learning as I go. I won't apologize to them for their miserable lives i didn't create, their anger, their self-loathing. I won't apologize for crimes they manufacture whole cloth, or for being more well-liked than them, or having more followers, or a sense of humor and the ability to take things less seriously. I won't apologize for not being as obsessed with them as they are with me, and honestly knowing almost nothing about them. I won't apologize for tracking their IP when they come to my page. I won't apologize for laughing at the things they insist on making so bloody stupid. I won't accept their version of reality, simply because they think they may have spoken to one person who says they knew me and met me once. I won't be called names because they feel entitled to throw them. I am not their property or their entertainment.

This is why I keep telling them to get a hobby or a life. Over and over. And yet here we are still. Years later.

I came here to do a thing. Along the way i found i enjoyed it a bit, and was using it to also do good work. So I decided to stay. I don't know why they're here or what they get out of it. I won't surmise. But I will say, they will never as long as they live admit wrong-doing, even if i show them a dissertation on the model of online bullying they became.

They're always right. I'm always wrong. People who read my blog are misguided cult members who are mentally ill and can't be trusted with money. All the people who follow that blog are noble cause fighters on a quest to kill a savage beast. I mention them bullying me and they're my victims. They bully me and are honorable because of it.

Here's a thought: It's also possible to be right, but still be a bully. It's possible to pick on someone instead of solving a problem you know exists. It's possible to agree with someone in every way, but still behave in an abusive or deconstructionist way. It's possible to be well-intentioned but do the worst possible thing to someone.

Bullying is about YOUR behavior. Not the target's.

Anyway, to get back to the ask...I cannot give you an answer. I don't know why they got this particular bug up their bung holes. I don't know why they've nursed it for so long. I don't know why they don't comprehend layers of identity, or curation of content, or what an experiment actually is. I don't know why they have such a hard on for me, except that I am apparently very sexy.

It's all complete nonsense to me, but I'm sure they're right, I'm wrong, my friends are bastards and somewhere there's a tumblr god who gives a merciless shite.

#24hourchaos

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lumosandnoxwriting · 4 years ago

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I honestly can’t believe I’ve already been on Tumblr for six months! To be completely honest, I kind of started this blog on a random whim. After not writing creatively for years one day I just sat down and wrote a whole fic in one sitting after getting back into reading fanfiction. And I decided to make a blog and post it, figuring nothing major would come from it. Honestly I figured I’d put a few things up and then abandon my blog like I seem to do. I never expected the overwhelming support I would get, or all the amazing people I would meet who I get to call friends. But being back on Tumblr and writing for the twins has honestly been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made - so thank all you lovely people for that!! So in honor of all my lovely followers and mutuals who have supported me on this journey I decided to have a little sleepover to celebrate my blogs anniversary!

So from now 3/17 until 3/21 @ 12 pm EST send in a

🎶 - for a random mini-playlist!! I’ll shuffle one of my playlists and give you the first five songs that come up!

⌨️ - for an NSFW blurb! Send me a twin and an NSFW scenario or kink and I’ll write a little blurb about it!

🦋 - for a cast your mutuals! Send me in some kind of category and I’ll cast some of my mutuals as those things!

✍🏻 - for the made up fic title game! Send me a fake fic title and I’ll tell you what fic I’d write for it!

💭 - for a random headcanon! Send me a twin and I’ll tell you a random headcanon I have for them!

⚡️- for talk/vent time! Got something you’ve been dying to talk about? Or just want to vent some frustrations? Come by my ask box and we’ll do just that!

Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck by me during these past six months, especially to my mooties who have made this such an amazing experience! @darthwheezely @whizboyhalo @wand3ringr0s3 @lupinsclassroom @theweasleysredhair @harrysweasleys @diary-of-an-onliner @wzrd-wheezes @spacexcowgirl @parseltongueswriting @weelittleweasley @lumos-barnes @gryffindorgirlie @pineapplesandpinas @pxroxide-prinxcesss @jenniweaslee @breadqueen95 @wandsandwheezes @amxrtentias

#George weasley #fred weasley #mads blogaversary event

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nopefun · 3 years ago

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Interview #498: Building a House

This is an excerpt of a conversation between Dennese Victoria and me. I featured Dennese on Nope Fun last year, and in August this year she invited me to have another conversation. We spoke about the past 11 years of Nope Fun, our practices, and friendship.

Sometimes I get asked how I maintained Nope Fun over the years as a personal project, and through this conversation I realised it’s really about curiosity and the impulse to connect to like-minded people. That’s what’s been meaningful to me.

Dennese Victoria Lee Chang Ming

I discovered something today. You started Nope Fun in August.

I can't remember actually

I looked at the archives and the first post is August 26 or something.

In 2010

So it's been 11 years of you doing this.

I should have an anniversary party

I like the coincidence that it's your anniversary month. And then I checked the questions too because I was wondering, I wonder how he has changed, in terms of how you ask questions.

Oh, yeah it was totally different

You were asking how long they brushed their teeth

Yeah, it was always very trivial, kind of frivolous questions. Like, what's your favourite food. Or what's your favourite place in the house. Stuff that's totally not related to photographs. The one thing that I kept constant is asking about music. What's your favourite music? What do you recommend?

So, take me back. Where were you then?

2010 I had just finished army.

Army?

Because here in Singapore, we have to do compulsory conscription for military.

How did you look like?

Yeah, I did two years of military. I know I don't look like it, but I was in the infantry. So I was in a jungle with guns and everything in the front lines like, camping or whatever. But I was just training, there's no war here. It was two years of pain and suffering.

Yeah so I just finished two years of army and then I was really following a lot of online blogs, like art blogs, not just photography, but just art blogs in general. And then seeing a lot of artists that inspired me and all that. So then I was like, okay, actually, why don't I just start it myself?

Actually Nope Fun first started on Flickr. So I would message - my first few interviews I actually conducted on Flickr then I posted them on Tumblr. And it's like, yeah, nothing to lose, right? So I was just reaching out to all these photographers that I liked at the time or whatever. I mean, if not, how am I ever going to talk to these people? But then again, I just started Nope Fun without thinking very much at all. It just really started on a whim, like one random night and Nope Fun itself is just a song at that time on My Space.

So you were following a lot of people online, but were you shooting also?

A little bit, yeah.

I can't remember if you studied art or something.

No, no. I was studying Communications and New Media. But it's not creative in that sense. There weren't any creative projects like photography or drawing, I was not aware of it like that. But it was more like academic theories. So photography is just mainly self-taught. But I also like to think that through looking at a lot, or getting influenced by looking at a lot of different styles, and seeing what I liked, and what resonated with me, that the internet was my teacher.

That's intense. So yeah, I was surprised that it's been 11 years. And then now, to know that it came from your military era. And so I wanted to ask you, how would you introduce yourself now? ‘Cause it's been a long time.

I'm trying to recall how I did it. I think it was just on Flickr mail at first and just like, "Hi, I'm starting a blog, would you be interested. I just have a list of like five or six questions". And then surprisingly, most of them reply. And then somewhere in between, I don't know, maybe like 40 or 50 interviews I can't remember, it started to be a bit more popular and then from then on after the first few interviews, it was all people submitting. So, I didn't ask people, they submitted to me.

At first I wasn't very selective. I said, "Oh wow, people are interested". I have to accept everyone, but after a while, I felt the need to maybe be a bit more selective. You know, just only featuring people that I really like. So, in a sense, in the whole beginning part, I didn't really ask anyone.

But for maybe the last couple of years, I think it was when I started working, though now when I think about it, it's all corresponding to phases in my life. So, I was very, very active during my university years and even after, like three or four posts a week. But then once I started working, there was just no energy to maintain it. So, I just slowed down a lot.

If you've been through my archive, you probably noticed that there were very big gaps in between. So that's when I started working. And I guess it took a side line. And so after that the web traffic went down a lot and people stopped submitting. So, there were even bigger gaps. And then when I had time, I was like, okay, I want to start it again. I started writing to people that I wanted to start it again.

And recently you've been doing it once a month, no? Like once a month you release something.

I've been trying to get back into it. But also, you know the questions changed a lot. So it was very frivolous and I guess you could say the kind of people who were submitting were also a bit more serious about their practice. And I guess in my own practice I also was beginning to be a bit more serious about it. So maybe that's why the questions changed along the way.

And another interesting thing was that the questions that I ask are always things that turn out relevant to things that I wanted to find out for myself.

So, in the beginning stages, I was asking them, What's more important? Aesthetics, or content? I think that was a recurring question for the first 100 interviews or something. But then after that, I kind of moved on and said, okay, I think I already know this, for myself, and then after that, I asked other questions that I'm interested to see what people think about.Certain things that I was thinking about. For example, ideas about truth versus fiction in photography.

I like that you mention this lightness because I've always felt a kind of lightness from you or from your approach. Not in the sense that you don't take it seriously, because you work so hard I feel, like you're always releasing something. But always releasing something is both a product of your hard work and also like, your ability to let it go.

Yeah, you're right. I didn't really articulate it that way but it's definitely how it is. Like not wanting to take the work too seriously but also very serious at the same time. How do I explain?

Because you were also saying how you began Nope Fun was that you just did it. Was there no dark night of the soul? A kind of, I must do this.

No, because from the beginning, at least, when it came to Nope Fun, it was like, if I didn't want to do it, then I would have just stopped. Because it's just me, there's nothing, there’s really nothing to lose. And even now there’s nothing to lose. And it's not like I'm doing this to build a reputation, or to network, and I don't depend on it for a living, either. It's just really for my own interest. So the stakes are low for myself.

But when it came to my own photography, or my own practice, I think it depends on each project. Like certain projects, I don't have so much attachment to. But those that are more personal, then I think I do have more attachment.

After the photos are taken, when it comes to putting it out there, I do actually struggle quite a bit with thinking, Okay, how do I present it? Some works actually, I have held on to for many years and I've never shown anyone. But then I’m also like, Why am I keeping it in? Why do I even make it in the first place? So then sometimes I just put it up.

Or maybe for some of the work, I’ll have an idea that maybe this would be good in this context, maybe it could be a book or maybe an exhibition. But then the right time never arrives to sort of put it out there. And then it just gets left in a corner.

So as soon as I think that it's to my own detriment that I overthink when it’s the right thing, or when it's the right opportunity to throw something out there, then the other side of me will be like, Don't think so much and just go with it. Do it first and then figure it out later.

But I think we probably talked about this before, that most of my ideas - I just never do it in the end. I think it's probably similar for you too, I’m sure you have a lot of ideas but like getting down to doing it or actually showing it, it's another thing.

I don't know if I'm imagining it but I feel a sense of confidence from you. Like a secret confidence maybe. For example when you were talking about how you weren’t thinking about your career, I wanted to ask you if you were not conscious of being watched, especially by, for example, people whose opinions you value. So, I kind of envied that you feel a bit more free maybe or I don't know if it's an illusion, because I'm outside of your mind, but I do feel a certain sense of confidence about it.

I think I get what you mean. Like, I think my confidence mainly comes from me being sure in what I like. And now my thinking will be, if I like it, someone out there is going to like it. So it's that kind of approach rather than trying to appeal to everyone or anything. I think I'm always trying to appeal to myself because then that way you attract like-minded people.

Has it always been that way? Have you always been like that as a kid? Like, I know what I want.

Maybe. Kind of. I think as a kid... yeah, I think I’m just very weird. I’m not really very sociable.

Which is just strange to say because you've just interviewed 495 people.

Yeah but I’m talking about face to face, or social settings. On the internet, it's a different thing. It's easier in a way. Approaching people in the street, or in a party or event is different from email exchanges, right?

For you, is it like totally different rooms in your personality?

Maybe no, maybe it’s a bit more bridged. I would like to think I’m a bit more sociable now.

I think it’s interesting. The internet self is not exactly like, I mean it is still true, but it's not exactly your daily self. Last time when we were still just messaging, you were telling me something about it being more organic for you, that whatever friendships you develop from the hundred people whether it’s with your work or with Nope Fun.

But then I was thinking, isn't organic connection, isn’t it still born from this desire, out of an intention? So, you still thought about it. And for example, you let people submit, but later on, you kind of thought, No, now I have to select.

Yeah, you're right, it's not entirely organic in that sense. But it starts off with the intent, maybe someone submits, and then after that, whether or not we carry on that connection is up to us.

For example, one of the people that submitted to me, this guy called Alex, and he was like, I think he was living in the US but he used to live in Singapore. And so he submitted and I featured him, and his family lives here so when he visited Singapore, he said, Let's meet up. So we met in person, and then he connected me to some of his other friends in Singapore.

And then his friends are people that I hang out with now. So, it's like, indirectly he connected me to his other friends, and then now they’re my good friends. That kind of thing.

I think that's what I mean. Because you can never plan these things. But if I didn't have that platform of Nope Fun, then I wouldn't have never made that kind of friendship. Of course, out of the 400, no, most of them after that are like, whatever.

Another one is, for example this Japanese photographer submitted and then we exchanged emails quite often after that, and we have this email chain, that is, I think, 99 emails, really.

Anyway, when he came to Singapore, we shared a table for Singapore Art Book Fair. So, it’s like, Wow we’re in real life. But I also think that it starts from this common interest of photography or art. And then because there's a common interest, then it's very easy to talk about, talk about anything.

So, when you do meet them in real life, it’s still like bridges, they're still the same?

Because for example, my problem is sometimes I think the people that talk to me online, they have this weird imagination of me that they look for when they meet me. And then they're kind of disappointed. Like, they expected to be closer than I wanted, or than I was ready for. And especially with my recent work, with the invitations, it's just really a bit intimate.

I'm having trouble with that - where to, or how to make people understand that access to me during the work, and in real life, are like different doors. It’s also hard to suddenly tell people that, Please enter through another door. So I don’t know.

Maybe, and because you're talking about doors right now, I was imagining, it's how you build your house around you. Like you’re your own architect building how people can reach you.

And so maybe yours is a little bit more like there’s a door for other people and there's another door for others. Maybe there's another for other things. For me also, maybe there's a window that's always open, and then another door that's here.

Because depending on who you meet, you behave differently, right? Whether it's with your relatives or with artist friends or with your colleagues, I would say, based on those kinds of different relations, then you behave a certain way because it’s a different part of yourself. And they are all real, and they're all true, but it's just, yeah, different parts.

I do feel that they're all real. Just different parts of the puzzle.

I didn't expect that, because I was imagining that you were messaging people for Nope Fun, but I didn't know that they came to you. Which is actually interesting because when I approach people, like whether it's for an official reason, or something personal, I always overthink the part about, who am I to ask for their time?

But then when I do begin to ask, I almost always kind of realize that a lot of people want to be asked. And then when I heard you say that they came themselves, I was thinking that maybe people do want to be found more than I think they want to be.

But then there's a different context right? Because for me, it was that I’m running this blog, this platform that people can get exposure or whatever, so I'm offering something, in a way.

Because I give them this network, not really a network but people who read it. So I feel like I always gave more; I'm offering something more than they would see.

But for you, in your case, the stakes are higher I feel, because you're really putting yourself in it. For me, it's kind of like, it’s just a website and that's how it starts; for you it's like you are momentarily in that relationship between you and the person.

But you still give time. You still give time, I feel. And I don't think a lot of people get asked often. That's what I like about what you do. I don't think a lot of people are asked often. That's what I like about the space.

I wanted to ask, because you were saying something about how you often feel like you offer more than they can give. Because I was also thinking before that, I wonder if you wish that they also asked you. I know you usually just send questions, right? And then they answer back? So I wonder if you sometimes feel like hoping they would also ask you back.

Yeah, possible. I think in the more recent ones I did. But there's not so much of a deep reason other than I wanted to keep the format consistent. And that format also allowed me to do so many in a short time.

But if you're having more of back and forth, like what we did for your interview, which I really enjoyed, there's so much more time and effort involved. And it’s a different format altogether. So maybe I would love to have some separate platform for a more in-depth conversation as opposed to just Q&A, because for most of the features as you know, it’s just Q&A. And they don't ask me anything, it's just me sending questions.

So you would introduce yourself, and then they’d send in the answers, and then usually it ends like that? Are you happy with that? Or does it not like feel a bit cold or something? Or is it because you decided it that way?

I think it's because I decided that way. But also, it's kind of like, yes, it's a bit cold, but then it’s a foot in the door. And then anytime, I can just contact them again and say, Hey two years ago, I interviewed you about this thing. So at least there's some kind of connection there. Even though it's not deep, it's still something.

Like what I said in the beginning, when I started it, I really didn't think about it at all. It's just I’m just going to do this thing and then I started it. And then somehow people seemed to like it, and then I just stuck to that format. So there's no real deep reflection on my side as to why I put it exactly in that formula other than, that's how I started and then I just kept to it. In fact, it's only on the more recent ones that it’s kind of a little more in-depth. Cause you were suggesting this approach that’s not just Q&A, so I was like, okay.

Thanks for giving me extra work. Thanks for making me work harder? But no, because I'm just curious also. So I began in this “world” of art exhibitions around 2015. And at first, I was just happy about the pictures on the wall, and sometimes the free flights. But now I’m also thinking, I wonder if I'm making the most of it. Or, how do I actually do that? I remember when we were in Germany, and Fadli was, like, super pro. He was giving his books and stuff, and we were like, What do we eat?

Yeah he was probably meeting some important person and we were like, Where do we go? There’s a nice café there.

I don't know. You've been to a lot of fairs. And you had that interview.

Not a lot of fairs actually,it's just Singapore Art Book Fair.

Do those things that feel the same to you? Does it give you a kind of, Woah, this is where I’m meant to be? On a scale of 1 to 10 does it feel like a meaningful event for you? I guess I'm asking, when do you feel successful? When do you feel like you’ve made it? Or, which things come close to that?

Yeah, I think to maybe cut across a few of your questions or stories just now from about the time in Germany to about finding success and meaning, I think, because I’m also thinking more about meaning - about what I find meaningful in all these experiences.

At the end of the day, it is about finding a connection, like a real connection to other people. Like meeting all of you guys, that's the biggest takeaway, right? For me, it's also very inspiring. And, or like you just mentioned, I got to meet Czar, and we became friends and hung out for a few days, and right now we still chat randomly now and then which is very, very nice.

And I don't think it's just like, Oh, I’m making a new friend. It’s also because we have certain, a common understanding through making art or photographs and therefore there’s this language that we can understand and that we can’t with other people who are not involved in this creative or art making kind of thing. There’s this is certain kind of mutual understanding, or like solidarity

Like an affirmation.

Like an affirmation too, yes. But the success part, for me I have the privilege of not depending on it for a living. This was a deliberate choice in this current point of time to not depend on it for a living so I don't have to operate in a certain way.

So I think that kind of frees me a bit from what I perceive a proper artist or photographer should be and to just do things the way I wanted to.

So maybe that relates to your earlier point on how maybe you see me as a bit more than free or light, and not taking it too seriously.

Because, yeah, I don't a hundred percent focus, I don't depend on it for my day to day, and therefore I'm able to be a bit more free about how I deal with it and that's not to say I don't take it seriously because actually, I feel like I take it more seriously than let's say, my day job. But I don't have to be so tied down with it

Do you know what I mean? Because I imagine that if I had to do it full time, my approach would be very different. And I don't think I would enjoy it at this current point in my life. I don't know about the future, but now, when I think of the pressure to behave a certain way, or to present myself a certain way, and maybe even market myself a certain way, and go out and network more like how I would do in my day job, that all of this would take the joy out of it.

So I was also looking at your website. and then I was looking at Soft Bloom again. And then I'm only noticing now how clear it is as opposed to the ones before and that it is more quiet. It's less of a passing, like how I was telling you about the lightness in your work earlier, but with Soft Bloom the images have a more clarity to them. And then I read the text about the eyes touching the photograph… And so I wonder, did you change cameras? Or did you just change in terms of approach or feelings?

More of the feeling. And I think most of those kinds of projects, Until Then, this one, and my other series as well, it's more about the kinds of feelings when taking it, and when i'm editing after that. And actually, Asrul said the same thing as you. He said, Oh, this is so different. Like, I feel so much more still.

But it's the same camera, it is the same camera that I used for Until Then. So, I'm also very happy that both you and him noticed it because that was what I wanted too - I guess to show a different kind of feeling. And that kind of feeling you can't really say, or speak about in a way. So I'm very glad that not only myself but that other people can also pick up on that.

It's very clear. But maybe also because you had more time to photograph than Until Then.

Yeah, but that one is still ongoing.

Do you feel a need to close a project?

Usually not. But recently, I've been thinking that sometimes I guess I do. Like one of the things that has been on my mind the past few weeks is this earlier, so-called series, I don't even know if you can call it a series. But the Idle Hands series, it's on my website, I don't know if you saw it, but it was one of the things I showed when we first met,

I don't know if I saw it online but I remember you had a zine.

Yeah, I did. But yeah I was showing that and I remember them sitting there saying, Oh it's just like random pictures that you put together. And it could be in any other series. And I didn't realize it until recently that actually, that has affected me since then, like this, this short comment. I forgot that I had to unlearn that, that kind of feeling. But I guess at that point it was like, okay, these serious photographers are telling me that this has to mean something.

But then now, after some time, I realize that actually, that's not true. I knew what I was doing. And through their perspective, that's what they saw but then again, it was a photography workshop and there's a certain way of understanding and reading images.

So looking back, I realised, actually, no, actually maybe you just didn't see the whole... the bigger picture that I was trying to, or the bigger feeling I was trying to capture.

What music do you recommend?

So, this recently, this guy called Fred again..

So I'd just be listening and going for walks in the evening. And it's very nice. Yeah, that's the one thing that's been helping me, or inspiring me, going for walks.

Yeah, it moves you, like you're moving literally, and then it kind of moves your mind. For me, being on a commute has the same effect. For example, when I'm on a long bus ride I feel like I can think a lot for some reason.

Yeah, so it's the same thing.

So, I don't know. I don't have any more questions. I feel like we've covered everything.

Thanks for having me.

Thank you for talking to me. I hope both of us get to start our own spaces. It would be really nice to offer space.

Read the full conversation here.

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#dennese victoria #nope fun #lee chang ming

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summerflingsandthings · 4 years ago

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Okay! Welcome! I have decided to go all in and make a blog for all my writing and writing updates! So here we go!

Also, if you want a sneak peek at what I have in store you can look at my fic ideas document here! Feel free to comment on the document, or send me a message! I desperately wanna talk about All Of These.

Wake Up In the Morning and Never Miss a Day Again

5+1 Fic, TW: Alcohol (4,550 words) Five times Dream told George he loved him while drunk and the one time George believed him.

A King's Gambit

(Complete) Series In which George breaks Dream out of Pandora's Vault for his own entertainment. TW: Mild sociopathic behavior

The Whims of an Apathetic King: George visits Dream in prison. Instead of fury, Dream encounters something he never considered to be a good thing: Apathy

What's a God to a King: George visits the one person who doesn't trust him implicitly to call in a favor

When the King Crumbles: George meets with the one person who could let him see Dream again. (Prequel)

The King's Cornflower Crown: George meets someone he's never met before, but they certainly know him. (Prequel)

Down On Your Knees Before the King: Chapter fic, finale, complete (2/2) George finally meets the rest of the SMP, this time laid bare, true colors on display

King of Fools: Dream kills people. George is okay with that. Dream thinks that's a little fucked up, which to be fair, it is. (Non-canonical, modern AU)

Sapnap's Guide to Surviving Your Best Friend's Gay Panic

Chapter fic, complete (7/7) Dream finally catches up with literally everyone else on the planet and realizes that he's in love with George. But this story isn't about Dream. It's not about George, either. It's about Sapnap, because he's the real hero here.

Winter's Chill

Short fic (622 words) It's too fucking cold in the South ATM and as my favorite Southerner, Sapnap gets to suffer. Luckily, he's got two morons who who love him to keep him warm so really he's not even suffering THAT much

Summer’s Welcome

Chapter fic, writing challenge, in progress/possibly abandonded (2/15) George finally moves to Florida with Dream and Sapnap. A look at the first two weeks he's there with him and Dream orbiting one another and dancing around the subject and tripping over their feelings.

Always

One-shot (2,404 words) Just before the dawn of a new world, Dream finds himself with doubts that he never thought he'd have. George, who has known him since before there was anything to know, is there to set his mind to rest.

The Crimson Vineyard

Big Bang Fic, chaptered (3/12) Private Investigators Dream and George's most recent case is something that should be easy. Go undercover in a small town to find a couple of missing teenagers. Something that should be over and done within a week. The hardest part should be acting the part of newlyweds while continuing to ignore the very real feelings between them.

But as time passes with no sign of Tommy or Tubbo anywhere, they start to realize that things aren't as they seem. Something is growing in Waco, Florida with Bad Halo at the center of it all. Something that will put all of Dream and George's skills -- and their relationship -- to the test.

#summer updates #dnf fanfic #dream not found #summer fics

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sincerelybubbles · 5 years ago

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Hi, could I please have a A,G,H,K for Shinsou and a B,R for Ashido? Sorry if that's a lot lol! Only just found your blog but its great!

sorry this took so long!! thanks for the compliment love :) everything’s under the cut bc it got a tad long. i didn’t know if you wanted platonic or romantic for R for mina, so i did both <3

Hitoshi Shinsou

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Shinsou isn’t a super affectionate guy typically

He definitely isn’t into PDA

He’s not super touchy, but he does tend to stand closer to you then he needs to, just so that you know he’s there

While he won’t reach out and grab your hand, if you reach out for his he won’t let go. He doesn’t mind small things like that, just don’t expect him to initiate it and don’t take it too far. He doesn’t want you to hang off of him, but he does like just simply holding your hand

When you’re hanging out with a smaller group of friends, he tends to relax and appreciate some affection more, so he’ll wrap his arm around you or reach for your hand first

One hundred percent the type of guy to only use his phone with one hand so that his other can be around your shoulders or waist

He doesn’t see any reason to kiss you in public, so he doesn’t. The most he’ll do around others is kiss your forehead.

Alone? He’ll kiss you as much as you want

If it’s just the two of you, Shinsou becomes a cuddle-bug. He prefers playing video games with you beside him, either laying on his shoulder, with your head in his lap, or letting him lay against you

He likes the reassurance that you’re there without having to say anything.

And if you play with his hair? He’s out, he will fall asleep so quickly

Something I whole-heartedly believe? Shinsou likes to dance but only alone w u

I’m talking cheesy slow dancing

But also dance parties where he can just watch you relax and let-loose and pull you close if he wants

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

THE absolute gentlest

Physically, he never does anything that could even possibly hurt you

Because of the kids bullying him when he was little for being a villain, Shinsou has spent a lot of time making sure that he’s not ever rough with people, and that extended into your relationship completely

If he needs to get past you, he does the cute little hand-at-the-small-of-your-back thing where he gently nudges you out of the way

He gently tugs your wrist when he wants your attention

And even in the heat of a fight against a villain (if you fight with him) he’s oh-so-aware of where you are at all times so he can protect you and ensure that nothing happens to you.

Emotionally, he can be distant at times

He’s a great listener and gives the best advice

But, he really isn’t so great at the sharing thing

He wants to open up to you, but doesn’t quite know how

He tries his hardest to be gentle with your feelings and how you’re coping, but will sometimes harden up if you try and approach how he’s feeling

He apologizes if he snaps when you try and talk to him about specific things, he really doesn’t mean to hurt your feelings by being so distant with his own feelings, he just doesn’t know how to talk about them without them consuming him

After a while of bottling things up, he eventually breaks down and tells you everything

And keeps you up all night doing it, oops

But after that final wall is broken down, it’s slightly easier to get him to talk and he feels a bit more comfortable opening up

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He likes hugs more then he would ever admit

Shinsou craves your hugs, but doesn’t really know how to initiate them

It doesn’t take too much time for you to realize that he likes your hugs a lot though

When you hug him, he always leans into them and holds you tight, pressing his face into the curve of your neck

His hugs are warm, tight, and lingering

And when you pull away he always kisses your forehead, without fail

He won’t reject a hug from you if it’s in public, but it’ll be shorter then normal and he’ll pull away first, kissing you briefly before turning away with a slight blush

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be with you, he just likes the fat that you’re his and your relationship is something he’d rather be private and kept between you two

Alone? His hugs can last for several minutes

He doesn’t like to talk while he hugs you, but rather sits there and closes his eyes and relaxes

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Shinsou loves kissing

And he’s really good at it

i mean,,,,

He is so gentle at first, taking his time and making you melt before suddenly flipping the switch and leaving you breathless

And he holds you so close while you kiss, his hand on your hip to keep you close, his other hand holding your cheek

He tastes faintly of peppermint and coffee

He loves kissing your forehead or nose, he likes the way you scrunch your nose when he lands a peck just on the tip of it

Tired Shinsou requires many kisses and you tease him for being sloppy with them, half of the time not even landing on your mouth but slightly below on your chin before he readjusts and kisses you properly

He absolutely melts when you kiss his collarbones or the corner of his mouth

But, to be fair, this boy just loves your kisses so much that he’ll take them anywhere you wish to give them

He’s not really a tease when it comes to kissing, he’d rather use his time making you both happy with the kiss rather then leave you both wanting for more

Even when he has plenty of time, he keeps the teasing to a minimum, favoring kissing you fully and relishing in how he leaves you breathless, trying to avoid keying you into the fact that he’s just as affected

Mina Ashido

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Mina would one hundred percent approach you first

She thinks you look cool and wants to talk to you

Even if you’re shy, she wouldn’t be phased, talking enough for the both of you to fill the silence

And if you match her outgoing energy? Even better

Mina prefers close friendships rather then just people she hangs out with, so she’ll make an actual effort to get to know you

Mina tends to invite herself over to your house or dorm at the beginning of your friendship, but as it develops it’s not even a question if you two will hang out all night on a weekend night. You just do

Mina is the type of protective friend who will absolutely fight for you

She’s a good listener, as long as you treat her the same

She’s all about supporting you, but wants the same behavior in return

Also, the crackhead friend

Can and will text you at three am

“Why have there been no recent sightings of the Loch Ness Monster? Do you think he’s okay?”

“Mina, it’s 2:34 in the morning. Go to bed.”

Tends to pick up things for you from the store casually just because she knows you’ll appreciate it and won’t accept excessive “thank you”s for it. She got you the sweater because she knew it’s look cute on you, so put it on and look cute, no need to say thank you

There’s always a fifty fifty chance that she’ll disappear for a few hours and then call you saying that she’s four hours away, lost, but has the best story to tell you about this one guy. . .

Also drags you along on her adventures whenever she can

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Platonic:

The road trip the two of you took on a whim along roller coaster road

You actually came to her and said you wanted to go, so you packed the car within an hour and set off

Mina made a playlist and you drove and had the wonderful idea to pack the car with blankets so it was cozy

It was just the two of you and you talked for hours

She loves this memory because it was the first time she really felt that you two were connecting and getting to know each other

You guys had had sleepovers before, of course, but those were packed with expectations, this was free, spontaneous, and she felt like she could tell you anything and you would just understand

And after that? You two were indubitably best friends, closer then ever before

Romantic

Definitely your first date

You looked so cute and nervous waiting for her to show up, and the endless compliments within the first five minutes were absolutely adorable

You were so sweet and, luckily, loosened up quite quickly into the date, making it so much more fun with easy banter

She’ll never forget how surprised she was that she was there with you and it was going well

It wasn’t awkward after the first few minutes and she knew that she wouldn’t rather be anywhere else

You made her feel comfortable, accepted, heard, and happy

She can’t remember a night where she smiled or laughed more

She spent the night after in her bed, chest feeling light and a smile on her face that she couldn’t loose, not that she was trying

#shinsou #shinso #shinso x reader #shinsou x reader #hitoshi #hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinso hitoshi x reader #bnha shinso hitoshi #bnha x reader #bnha #my hero academia #my hero imagines #my hero headcanons #mina #mina x reader #ashido x reader #mina ashido

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viking-raider · 5 years ago

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The Bat’s Sister *Fic Request*

Summary: You’re Bruce Wayne’s little sister, and after meeting at a Charity Gala, you and Clark Kent kept running into each other. So much so, that the pair of you fall in love, much to Bruce’s annoyance and attempts to stop it. But, both Clark and Bruce would do anything to keep you safe.

Pairing: Clark Kent/Reader

Word Count: 14,274

Rating: Superman/Batman AU, Fluff, Violence, overprotective superheros

Inspiration: Request by @jessevans (x)

Author’s Note: This is my first Clark Kent/DC story! I had a lot of fun writing it too!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans @MITZWINCHESTER @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @hm-fck, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog

Clark first met you at one of Bruce's Charity Galas. He was there to write an article on the event for the Daily Planet, when he noticed Bruce pull you aside into a corner as you entered the venue, handing you a glass of champagne. Clark let the rumble of the hundred plus people in the room around him fade away and honed in on the conversation between the two of you.

“You're late, y/n.” Bruce told you in a concerned voice, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I thought...”

“Bruce, just because someone is running late, doesn't always mean something happened to them.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at your older brother. “You know what the traffic from Metropolis is like at this hour trying to get into Gotham. Especially, when the great and mighty Bruce Wayne is throwing the gala of the century.”

“If you'd called me, I could have gotten you a helicopter in.”

“Dear God, Bruce.” You laughed, sipping your champagne.

“What's the point of being so rich, if you don't enjoy it?” Bruce teased you, grinning.

“Being rich is your thing, Ru.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I am more than content on living in my flat in Central Metropolis, and doing my simple nine to five job.”

“A flat the our inheritance pays for, and a nine to five that's at Wayne Biotech.” Bruce rolled his eyes back.

“I pay my own bills,” You defended yourself. “Our inheritance only pays for the rent and whatnot. As for Biotech, I enjoy it, helping the world invent and discover new vaccines and medical treatments. You know as well as I do, I can't sit around a multi-million dollar mansion, while servants take care of literally every whim and fantasy I may or may not have. I'd lose my mind.” You sighed, setting your glass down on the table behind you. “It's not like I can run around the city in a rubber suit.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you, you'd been the first person he told about being Batman. “You're the only family I have left, y/n. I don't want to lose you, like we lost our parents.” He told you, taking your hand in his. “You know, that's the main reason I do, what I do at night.”

“I know it is, Bruce.” You told him, resting your hand on his cheek. “But, I can take care of myself as well, you know.”

“Mr. Wayne.” Clark beamed, stepping up to you and your brother. “Ma'am.” He smiled, sweetly at you.

“Mr. Kent.” Bruce replied, turning to the reporter. “How can I help you?”

You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head at your brother, seeing his shoulders tense as he looked up at Clark, giving you the odd feeling that the two knew each other.

“I'm well.” Clark replied, his smile smug, but familiar. “It's an amazing party you have going on here.” He said, gesturing around to the rest of the room, like he was reminding him that there was more than just the three of you in the room. “Can I get a statement about it?” He asked, pulling out a pen and small notepad.

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but something else caught his attention and he patted Clark on the shoulder. “You know what, I forgot to check on something downstairs. But, I'm sure my sister, y/n, here would gladly give you a statement about it. It was her idea to throw this gala to raise money for a wonderful cause.” He grinned at you, chuckling seeing the utter look of horror in your face as he walked away.

“Oh, I hate him.” You sighed, picking your glass back up and downing it.

“Would you like that to be your official statement?” Clark asked, grinning amused.

“I wish.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “But, no. Of course not.”

“So, tell me, what it is that the gala is about?” He asked, poising himself to write down your answer.

“Um,” You glanced around the room, hugely uncomfortable about being in the spot light, you never liked being the center of attention.

Clark watched and listened to your heart beat become erratic with panic and tucked his pen back into his front pocket and his notebook in his back pocket. He turned around as a waiter walked behind him and picked up two glasses of wine, holding one out to you. “How about we go somewhere quieter, that way you're more comfortable answering any questions?” He suggested, your fingers brushing as you took the glass from him.

You took a deep breath and a gulp of the wine. “Sure.” You nodded, looking around and then motioned for him to follow you out of the main room of the event and down the hall to one of the empty offices. “Ask your questions, Mr. Kent.” You told him, sitting down across from him.

“Right.” He smiled at you, pulling out his pen and pad again, setting it on the desk next to him. “You're Bruce Wayne's sister?”

“Little sister, yes.” You nodded, turning your wine glass between your hands. “I was two, when our parents were killed.”

“How old was Bruce?” Clark asked, scribbling in his pad.

“Sixteen.” You replied, shifting in your seat, neither you or Bruce liked talking about the death of your parents.

“I'm guessing, he took care of you, after that?” He inquired, tilting his head at you and pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“Sorta.” You shrugged, taking another gulp of wine. “Between him, our butler, Alfred, and nannies. All rather lonely, really. But, you have to make the best out of what life gives you.”

“And being a Wayne, that's pretty much everything you want, since your family as huge chunk of the world's wealth.” Clark chuckled, smiling at you, but his smile faded see you didn't find it funny. “I'm sorry, that...what is this gala about?” he asked, shaking his head and changing the subject.

“The Gala is to raise awareness about the hunger crisis in third world countries.” You explained to him. “Wayne Industries started a food supply market in the 1910's, that helps feed low income families and homeless in Metropolis and Gotham.” You continued, crossing your ankles.

“What made you want to throw the Gala for it?” Clark asked, intrigued.

“I spent a year in Africa helping try and treat a disease outbreak, then helped develop a vaccine for it with my position in the Wayne Biotech labs. While I was there, I noticed how so many villages struggle to keep themselves fed, and figured that Wayne Industries had more than enough money to help, as would many of the other rich socialites over here. But, rich people don't generally like donating money, unless they get to dress up and mingle with other rich people.” You chuckled, finishing off the rest of your wine. “and yeah, you can put that down as my official statement.” You added, seeing Clark's eyebrow raise as he finished writing down what you said.

“That'll make for some scandal.” He giggled, setting his pen down. “A rich woman calling out other rich people.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just because you're rich, doesn't mean you get to think you're above everyone else in the world. Besides, I'm not into being rich. It doesn't really give me what I want out of life.”

“And what do you want out of life, Ms. Wayne?” He asked you, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

“Something quiet and simple.” You sighed, looking out the open windows to the bright and dark night of Gotham. “I've lived in the city for ninety percent of my life, and I've never felt more one with the world, than when I'm somewhere quiet, where I can look up and see the stars, and not the lights of a million buildings, airplanes and satellite dishes.”

“Why don't you move out somewhere in the country?” Clark asked, he could relate to how you felt, he'd been a small town boy, and coming to Metropolis the first time was overwhelming, especially with his Kryptonian powers.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Bruce got me a house out in the country for my birthday a couple years back, but I don't get to spend too much time there. I'm the head Biochemist at Biotech, so I work a lot and when I'm not working a lot, I'm traveling for other Wayne industry responsibilities.”

“You're quite the busy young lady.” He complimented, taking a sip of his forgotten wine.

“Indeed, I am.” You smiled at him. “Tell me, how do you and Bruce know each other?”

“What makes you think we know each other?” Clark asked, smoothly. “We've met at several events I was writing a article on for the Daily Planet.”

“I know my brother, Mr. Kent.” You told him, smirking and crossing your arms. “I know, when my brother is acquainted with a reporter, and when he knows someone.”

“Well, I guess when you run into someone as often as he and I do,” He told you, acting cool. “You just start becoming very familiar with each other.” He explained, dancing around the fact, he and your brother had met each other two years before, and ended up leveling most of Metropolis and Gotham, as Superman and Batman. “I end up attending nearly all of your brother's events for Wayne Industries.” He added, pressing his lips together.

“Hm.” You hummed, knowing he was hiding something. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

There was a knock on the office door and one of Bruce's assistants stuck her head into the room. “The silent auction is starting, Ms. Wayne.” She informed you, looking between you and Clark.

“Thank you, Felicia.” You told her, standing up and smoothing your dress down. “Mr. Kent, it was a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for the interview.” You said, extending your hand to him.

“The pleasure was all mine, Ms. Wayne.” He told you, standing up and shaking your hand, gently. He moved out of your way and held the door open for you, smiling sweetly as you nodded your head to him, and walked out.

Clark ran down the street, in a complete rush to get his latest article into Perry White before his deadline. All he needed was to have Perry chewing him out again for being late, and holding up the printer. But, he couldn't help the detour to rescue people from a major apartment fire. He turned the corner and collided straight into someone, knocking them over and his glasses off.

“Oh, gosh!” He exclaimed, shifting the strap of his shoulder bag. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention.”

“That's quite alright, Mr. Kent.” You told him, picking up your bag and grabbing his black framed glasses off the sidewalk.

Clark blinked several times, looking down at you. “Ms. Wayne.” He grinned, helping you up. “Are you all right?” He asked, looking you over.

“Other than feeling like, I ran into a bull made out of a brick wall?” You chuckled, holding out his glasses to him. “The only injury is to my pride.” You assured him, readjusting your jacket and backpack.

“Well,” He sighed, biting his lip. “Is there anything I can do, to ease that for you?” He asked, tilting his head at you.

“Not unless you can get me across town in,” You glanced down at your watch, and groaned. “an hour.” You sighed, your shoulders dropping. “I'm running late for my flight to Jordan.”

“I could get you to Jordan in less than an hour.” Clark commented, licking his lips.

Laughter bubbled out of you at his comment, your hand resting on his upper arm. “If only.” You giggled, looking up at him.

He raised his eyebrows at you, pressing his lips together to keep himself from making another comment. “I should let you get to your flight, I'm sorry about being a brick bull.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“No harm, no foul.” You assured him, going on tiptoe and giving him a hug, surprising him into hugging you back.

“Tell your brother, I said hello.” He called after you, as you rushed into awaiting car.

“I will!” You called, slipping into the car and your driver closed the door.

Clark watched your car pull away and disappear in the traffic, running his hand through his hair again and then turning on his heels and continued to rush down the street and into the Daily Planet. He managed to get his article in on time, but he ended up spending the rest of the day thinking about your body hugged around his. By the time he clocked out and started his walk back home, Clark had already settled it in his mind that he was going to try and get his hands on your phone number and ask you out to dinner, for an interview, of course. Perry had asked him to do a follow up on the Wayne Charity Gala he'd attend the month and a half before, so it was the perfect reason to ask you out. He just needed to find out when you'd be back from your trip.

“Yes, Hello,” Clark said, when someone from Wayne Industry Headquarters finally answered the phone. “I'm Clark Kent, a reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis. I did an interview with Ms. Y/n Wayne, and I need to schedule a follow up interview with her.”

“Ms. Wayne is out of the country, at the moment, Mr. Kent.” the Secretary informed him.

“I am aware of that.” He said, running his hand through his hair as he paced his small flat. “Can you tell me when she'll be back, and how to contact her when she returns?”

“Um...” The Secretary groaned, typing quickly on her computer and shaking her head. “Ms. Wayne is due back into Gotham in two weeks. If you'd like, Mr. Kent, I can pass on a message to her assistant, Felicia, and have her call you when Ms. Wayne returns.”

“I would appreciate that, thank you.” Clark replied, it wasn't exactly the answer he wanted, but it was better than her telling him to fuck off and hanging up on him. Clark wasn't off the phone with the woman when his phone rang again, with a private number. “Clark Kent?” He answered, pathetically hoping it was you.

“Why are you asking about my sister, Superboy?” Bruce asked, leaning back in his chair as he sat in his office.

“Bruce.” Clark smiled, tightly, dropping onto his couch.

“Answer the question, Clark.”

“I was asked to do a follow up interview with her, after the one I did with her at the Gala. Where you ditched her, to go play Batman.” Clark told him, giving into the older man's protective banter. “How did you know I called about her?”

“Clark, y/n is the only blood family I have left in this universe.” Bruce told him, rotating in his chair to look out over Gotham. “I know, if someone three countries away, breaths in her direction. I especially know if someone is inquiring after her in my own company, or any company.”

“Don't you worry about smothering her?” Clark asked, pulling his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She knows, I do it, for her own good.” Bruce growled, squeezing his phone a bit tighter.

“I'm not going to do anything to your sister, Bruce.” Clark sighed, picking up on the edge in his voice. “I just need a follow interview with her.”

“Then, why didn't you call me?”

“People don't usually call the owner of a company to ask for an interview with one of their employees. They usually call the front desk and ask for one to be scheduled.” Clark countered, dropping his head back.

“Y/n isn't one of my employees, she's my sister, and I'm her guardian.”

“She's a grown woman, Wayne.” Clark shook his head. “She doesn't need you acting like her father, or her personal Batman. She needs you to be her brother, and let her live her own life.”

“Coming from the alien, that's an only child.” Bruce snapped, hanging up on him.

Clark dropped his phone on the couch beside him and sighed, heavily, scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair. He got up, stripping his clothes off as he made his way into the bathroom and cranking the hot water tap all the way on and stepped into the spray, groaning as the hot water soaked into his skin and muscles. He leaned on his arms against the shower wall, letting the water rain over his head, and watched as it swirled down the drain.

“Just an only alien child,” he groaned, tilting his head back to let the water hit his face. “That might be in love.”You were on the jet on the way back from Jordan, when Felicia sat down across from you. You cocked an eyebrow at her, knowing by the look on her face, she had news to tell you.

“We had a request come into headquarters for you.” She told you, scrolling through her phone.

“Oh?” You sighed, you really weren't in the mood for people requesting you. You just wanted to get home and sleep for a week. “What do they want?”

“An interview.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I don't do interviews, everyone knows that.”

“Well, it was an ask for a follow up, to one you've already done.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, then it dawned on you. “Clark Kent.” You nodded, it made sense now.

“Do you want me to contact him, and tell him, you'll be denying his request?” She asked, glancing up at you from her phone.

“No.” You sighed, rubbing your eyes. “I'll do the follow up, just make it a point to tell him, I'm not answering an personal questions.” You told her, getting up and going to the back of the jet, to lay down.

Felicia called Clark as soon as the jet landed back in Metropolis. “Mr. Kent, I'm Felicia Davis.” She introduced herself.

“How can I help you, Ms. Davis?” Clark replied, pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder as he sat at his desk in the Daily Planet.

“I'm Ms. Wayne's assistant.” She explained, sliding into the car beside you. “I'm calling in answer to your request for a follow up interview with her, about the Charity Gala.”

“Oh, yes, right!” Clark grinned, ear to ear. “Is there a good time for Ms. Wayne to meet me? I was thinking over dinner, if that's alright with her.”

“Ms. Wayne just arrived home from two weeks in Jordan, and is rather exhausted.” Felicia told him, opening a personal planner she carried around for you. “So, she'll need a couple of days to recover from her work trip.”

“Of course.”

“How does Saturday night sound to you, Mr. Kent?” She asked, tapping the date with her finger and looking at you, to confirm you're all right with it as well. “Excellent. Ms. Wayne will meet you at 7 pm, Saturday night. Do you need us to make the arrangements?”

“No, no.” Clark shook his head, like she could see him as he rummaged around his desk for a sticky note to write on. “I can make a reservation at a restaurant in down town Metropolis, and then send you the details.” he told her, finding what he was looking for.

“Very well, you can contact me with this phone number.” Felicia told him, penning it into the planner.

“Thank you, Ms. Davis.” Clark said, leaning back in his chair, with relief.

“You're welcome, and have a good day, Mr. Kent.” She replied, hanging up with him. “He'll be making a reservation for dinner this Saturday at 7pm. He'll call me with the name of the restaurant.”

“Strange for a man to pick the restaurant, we usually do.” You chuckled, glancing out the window.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Bruce had caught wind of you going to dinner with Clark, and in his typical fashion as your overprotective brother, he completely blew it out of proportions. You both spent that Friday in his office at Wayne Industries arguing about it, and most of the morning and afternoon Saturday doing the same.

“Oh, for the love of Superman, Ru!” You snapped as you stood in your closet, trying to pick out a pair of shoes to go with your outfit.

“Don't say that name!” Bruce barked over the speaker of your phone.

“What name?” You quipped, picking up a pair of black flats. “Ru or Superman?”

“Superman.” Bruce sighed, he'd stopped trying to prevent you from calling him, Ru, decades ago.

“Good Lord, Bruce.” You rolled your eyes, slipping your shoes on. “You still feel threatened by Superman? Ye ol' Batman's jealous.” You teased him, knowing it get under his skin.

“I'm not threatened or jealous of him, y/n.” He told you, rolling his eyes. “Not like that anymore, at least.”

“Then, enlighten your dear sister, and tell me how you are threatened and jealous of him?” You kept teasing him, checking yourself out in the mirror.

“It's complicated.”

“Well, uncomplicate it.” You pressed, going to your jewelry box for a pair of earrings.

“There's not enough time to do that, your date is in twenty minutes.”

“It's not a date, Ru!” You snapped, turning to look at your phone. “It's business. Business, you got me stuck in, when you left me at the Gala with Clark, so you could go play rescuer.”

“Don't remind me.” He groaned, still feeling the deep bruise on his side.

“All right, I'm going.” You told him, picking your phone up off the bed.

“Call me, if anything happens.” Bruce told you, quickly. “Or if you need an alibi to call it short.”

“I will, bro.” You told him, going out the front door. “And, Bruce, don't fucking stalk me. You, Alfred or anyone else, for that matter.” You warned him, hanging up before he could protest. “Off we go, Hector.” You said, as your driver opened the car door for you.

Clark stood out front the restaurant waiting for you to arrive, and smiled brightly, seeing your car pull up and your driver open the door for you. He offered you his arm as you got out of the car. “How was your trip to Jordan?” He asked, leading you inside.

“It was very good, thanks.” You told him, smiling softly. “How's work going for you?” You asked as the waiter showed the pair of you to your table.

“It's never a dull moment for a reporter, especially in this world.” He teased, pulling your chair out for you, then moving to his. “Your assistant, Felicia, made it clear I wasn't supposed to ask you any personal questions.” He said, setting his pen and notepad on the table by his menu.

“Well, if you do, they're to be off the record.” You explained, picking up your menu and browsing the selection of food and wine.

“Of course.” Clark nodded, following your lead. “What was your business in Jordan about?” He asked, looking at you over his menu.

“It was a Biotechnology convention.” You explained, turning the menu page. “Biochemists and the like gather every few years to discuss their research, breakthroughs and such with each other. Swap what info we can to help each other out, typical boring Scientist mambo jumbo.” You chuckled, looking over your menu at him.

“What made you become a Scientist?” He asked, picking what he wanted and setting his menu aside, but didn't bother with his notebook.

You shrugged, setting your menu down. “I enjoy helping people. I'm no Superhero, so I help in the ways and places I can.”

“You don't need to have super powers, to be a Superhero.” Clark said, looking at you, softly.

“That's possibly true.” You nodded, agreeing with him.

The waiter came over and took your dinner and drink orders, and you and Clark chatted away through two glasses of wine and most of your food, before you really realized that Clark hadn't written a single line in his notepad.

“Isn't this an interview, Mr. Kent?” You asked him, as dessert was set in front of you.

“You can call me, Clark.” He smiled at you, picking up his spoon to dig into his ice cream.

“Clark,” You grinned, taking a bite of your chocolate lava cake. “aren't you supposed to be interviewing me?” You repeated your question, smirking at him, impishly.

“I am supposed to be interviewing you, Ms. Wayne.” He nodded.

“Y/n.” You told him, staring at him across the table. “You can call me, y/n.”

Clark blushed and took another bite of his ice cream. “Admittedly, y/n, this is an interview with a motive.”

“Typical reporters.” You teased him, rolling your eyes playfully.

“My Boss, Mr White, asked me to do a follow up interview on your Charity Gala, but I really just wanted to ask you out to dinner..”

“So, you used the interview as an excuse.” You chuckled, nodding your head and amused that Bruce was mostly right.

“I am sorry.” He told you, abashed.

“That's quite all right, Clark.” You assured him, you really didn't mind at all. “But, won't you get in trouble with your boss for not doing the interview?”

“Yes, probably.” Clark nodded, worried at that prospect, he'd been on thin ice with Perry for several months.

“Well, how about we finish our desserts, and we take the actual interview on a walk around the park?” You suggested, setting your attention back on your cake, hoping to hide your blush.

“I rather like that idea.” Clark said, seeing your blush, easily, and blushing a bit, himself.

Clark paid the bill and you both left the restaurant, stopping long enough for you to tell Hector the change in plans. You took Clark's offered arm, resting your hand in the nook of his elbow as you strolled through the gates of the local park. The sound of late night birds, other pedestrians and the gurgling of the various fountain filled the cool night air, making it feel like You and Clark were blanketed in another world altogether. Clark took out his notebook and pen, and started funneling out all the questions he had to ask you for the interview and you answered them with a calm ease. It took no time for you and Clark to knock out the interview, and get to spend the rest of the time making several rounds around the park, oblivious of time and space. You were laughing at a joke Clark had made about himself being a small town, country boy, when you suddenly felt the cords of his muscles under your hand turn into steel, cutting off your laugh and glancing up at him.

“Clark?” You frowned at him, as he pulled you both to a stop and he looked around the dimly lit darkness around you, his head tilting slight side to side as he scanned around. “What is it?” You whispered, looking around with him.

“Stay calm.” He told you, softly, taking your hand from his forearm and carefully pulling you behind him, as three guys came out of the dark treeline, beside the sidewalk. “Evening, gentlemen.” He greeted them, every muscle in his body tensing, making Clark come off even bigger than he already was.

“Jesus Christ.” You panted, pressing one hand to your stomach and resting the other one on Clark's hip as you peeked around his arm.

“Hand over the jewelry and cash, and you and your sweetheart over there,” one of the men said, winking at you. “have to get hurt.” He said, the unmistakable click of a knife opening muted out everything else around you.

You looked up at Clark as he slowly shook his head.

“Not going to happen.” He told them, licking his lips. “I'll give you this one warning, to walk away.”

“I don't think, you understand your situation.” Another of the three said, taking a step forward.

“Clark.” You whispered, squeezing his hip.

“It's alright, y/n.” He told you, his eyes still glued to the men. “They're not going to hurt us.” He assured you, grabbing the arm of the guy as he shot forward, twisting his arm behind his back and shoving him to the side.

The one with the knife came at Clark next, raising the knife high. But, Clark easily grabbed him by the wrist, wrenching the weapon out of his hand and punched him across the face, forcing him back into his friends.

“I suggest you leave.” He threatened them, tossing the knife aside and giving them an expression that sucked all the courage out of them. “Now.” He snapped, rolling his jaw as they scrambled to their feet and haul themselves out of the park. “Are you all right?” Clark asked, his body relaxing as he turned around to you, cupping your face in his hands.

“I'm fine.” You told him, looking in his eyes, utterly shocked. “You could've gotten hurt!”

A smile broke out over Clark's face, and his hands dropped from your face. “I'm all right.” He assured you. “I'm use to people trying to fight me, I was bullied as a kid.” He explained, looking back to where the would-be robbers disappeared. “I should get you back to your car,” he added, looking up. “It is getting rather dark.” He offered you his arm again, and you slowly took it, still in shock.

“Of course.” You nodded, letting him lead you back the way you'd come.

“Good night, y/n.” Clark smiled as you stopped by your car.

“Good night, Clark.” You smiled back, still in a bit of a daze over what happened.

He blushed, slightly and started to walk away. “Do you think I could see you again?” He asked, turning back around, spurred by a bit of courage.

“Uh,” You blinked at him. “Sure.” You nodded, ducking into the back of the car and pulling out a card from your bag. “This is my private number.” You told him, holding it out to him. “Just so you don't have to go through headquarters or Felicia, to get a hold of me.”

Clark looked down at the card, then back up at you, spinning the little card around his fingers, nervously. “I'll give you a call, some time soon.” He promised, then wished you good night again, before turning himself towards home.

“Mr. Wayne called, while you were on your little walk.” Hector told you, as he pulled the car away from the curb.

“Of course, he did.” You rolled your eyes.

“He wants you to call him.”

“I'll call him in the morning.” You told Hector, rubbing your neck. “I just wanna go home and sleep, right now.”

Clark was staring at the card with your number on it as he sat at his desk at work, trying to work up the courage to call you, when one of the secretaries for the newspaper came over and told him, he had someone waiting for him in one of the conference rooms. Sighing and slipping the card into his pocket, Clark got up and found the conference room his visitor was waiting for him in.

“What are you doing here, Bruce?” He snapped, closing the door behind him.

“You took my sister on a date last night, disguised as an interview.” Bruce told him, clearly fuming already. “And you almost get fucking mugged in the process.” He snapped, slamming his hand down on the conference table.

“First of all, it wasn't a disguise.” Clark barked back, his anger flaring. “I do admit that when Perry told me to get a follow up interview with her, I also used it as an opportunity to take her out to dinner, I wouldn't call it a date though. Secondly, She was in no danger of those three punks, with me there with her, and you know that.”

“That doesn't fucking change the fact, she could have gotten hurt, Clark!” Bruce yelled, not even bothering to keep his voice low.

“I wouldn't have allowed it, Bruce!” Clark yelled back, moving closer to the table that thankfully separated them. “I would have protected her. I did protect her. They never got within two feet of her.”

“Oh, but they got within three feet of her.” Bruce snapped, mocking him. “Mighty Superman only have a detection range of two feet.”

“I knew they were there, I didn't fucking know they were going to try and mug us.” Clark countered, glancing behind his shoulder, to the door. “There were dozens of people in that park with us,” he told him, calming down. “Not every person that comes within range of her, is going to try and harm her. I certainly never would, and would never, allow anyone else to either. Y/n is as safe with me, if not safer, than she is with you.”

“Oh, you thinks so?”

“I know so.” Clark answered, a sharp tone in his voice. “You're just a mortal human. You get stabbed with a knife and you're fucked.”

“You think since you can take the hit of a bomb, you're better than me at protecting my baby sister.”

“She's not a baby anymore, Bruce.” Clark snapped, that upset him more than anything else in this conversation. “She's an adult, and you need to start treating her like one. You're not pissed off about what happened last night, you're afraid that she might fall in love me.”

“I'm not afraid she might fall in love with you.” He growled, raking a hand over his face and turning away from him.

“Then, what are you afraid of?” He demanded, leaning against the table.

“I'm afraid of her getting hurt.” Bruce said, quietly. “Especially, because I know she's already in love with you.”

“She is?” Clark asked, shocked and staring wide eyed at Bruce's back.

“Yes.” He sighed. “But, I can't allow that.”

“Why?” Clark groaned, rolling his eyes. “Cause I'm an alien.”

“Because, you're Superman.” He answered, spinning back around to look Clark in the face. “How many enemies do you have, that are looking for you to have a weak point? She would be that weak point, Clark.”

“She's your weak point as Batman.” Clark argued, sitting down at the table. “She's your weak point as normal Bruce Wayne, richest man in the world.”

Bruce huffed, sitting down at the table across from him. “I know she is, that's why I go so far out of my way, to protect her.”

“And you don't think, I can do the same?”

“I know you can,” Bruce sighed, feeling older than he really was. “I'm just not use to having to share her, is all.”

Clark laughed and shook his head at that. “We can protect her together, Bruce.” He told him, leaning over the table to him. “It doesn't have to be one or the other of us. It doesn't have to be Clark Kent vs Bruce Wayne, or Batman vs Superman, all the time. We found our common ground on protecting Earth in the Justice League, and we can find the common ground of protecting y/n.”

“I don't want you to tell her, you're Superman.”

“Does she know you're Batman?”

“She does.” Bruce nodded, checking his watch.

“But, you want me to lie to her about who I am?” Clark narrowed his eyes at him.

“She found out about me being Batman on accident.” Bruce told him, meeting his eye. “She found Alfred tending to one of the injuries I sustained after our battle with Steppenwolf. Wasn't like I could exactly lie to her after that.” He ran a hand through his hair, remembering the look on your face when you walked in on them. “But, you're Superman, you won't have that issue.”

“You do recall my dying?” Clark asked, cocking an eyebrow at Bruce.

“The kryptonite was destroyed when you killed that monster, Clark. There's no more of it on Earth, and probably the universe. It's nothing you have to concern yourself with anymore. What you do need to concern yourself with now, if you choice to pursue my sister, is her safety and keeping her in the dark about who you are. We both know the more she knows about who we are, and what we do, is more a danger to her life.”

You sat, cross legged, on Clark's couch with a bowl of cereal balanced in your lap as you watched the news, in one of Clark's plaid shirts. You spent more time in Clark's flat now-a-days then you did your own, and were content to do so. Clark appeared in the door way of his bedroom, watching you as you ate, momentarily oblivious to his presence. He grinned seeing you in his shirt, only three of the center buttons closed to keep the over-sized garment on your small frame, even then it slipped down one of your shoulders. He could still smell the lingering scent of sex from the night before and earlier in that morning.

“You sleep well?” He asked, stepping into the living room.

“I always manage to sleep like a baby, with you.” You told him, looking up at him as you took another bite of your coco puffs.

“That makes me feel good.” He chuckled, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, then padded into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. “What's your day looking like?” He asked, glancing around the corner to look at the tv.

“I have to go into work at the lab in an hour or so, then two board meetings.” You answered, setting your bowl on the coffee table, and grabbing the remote to turn up the news. “I do have another conference in Jordan in two days, some issue going on with one of Wayne labs there. Bruce is sending me over to deal with it, since the rep that's there now, is doing fuck all.” You explained, frowning at the news.

“How long will you be gone?” Clark asked, his own eyes glued to the tv as he made his breakfast.

“Shouldn't be more than a week,” You replied, absentmindedly. “With any luck of them being competent.”

“Well, if they're not competent enough to listen to you, they're in real trouble.” Clark joked, reassuring himself that what was happening on the news, wasn't something he needed to rush out and present Superman too.

“I'll fire every last one of the idiots, if they fucking try me.” You said, rolling your eyes at the thought of them giving you issues, which you knew, with men of their caliber and brains, they most certainly would.

“Well, it gives us enough time.” Clark told you, coming to sit down beside you on the couch.

“Enough time for what?” You frowned, turning your head to look at him.

“I wanted to ask you something.” He told you, resting his plate on his thigh.

“Oh, god.” You moaned, seeing the seriousness in his eyes. “Perry didn't fire you, did he?”

Clark laughed, shaking his head. “No, I'm still a reporter at the Daily Planet.” He assured you, with a blush. “We've been dating for a year now...”

“Yeeah..”

“I was going to ask, if you wanted to move in with me...” He said it slowly and quietly, not quite meeting your eyes. “You practically live here anyway.” He added, with a nervous laugh and looking around his flat, he could identify more of your things than his own, in the living room alone.

“That's a serious commitment, Clark. “ You said, just as slowly.

“I know it is.” He told you, pushing the food on his plate around with his fork. “I thought, maybe, we were at that point...”

“Bruce would have a heart attack.” You chuckled, at the thought.

Bruce didn't like the thought of you dating Clark, he didn't like you spent so much time with him, especially in between the sheets. But, he'd stopped nagging you about being with him, almost a year ago. He still gave you disgruntled remarks when you spoke about Clark in his presence, and he always seemed a tiny bit on edge, when the three of you were in the same room together. You didn't care what Bruce thought or felt on the subject, you were happy and content with Clark, the relationship the two of you had together. You'd also never been in such a serious relationship with someone, that you moved in with them, either.

“Does his opinion, matter so much, that it would make an impact on our relationship?” Clark asked, concerned it would, Bruce had promised to ease up on his attitude towards him and his love for you, but, Clark also knew, that what Bruce thought and said mattered to you.

“No.” You shook your head, resting your hand on his arm. “No, Clark, it wouldn't.” You tried to sound as convincing as possible, but could tell by his expression, it wasn't enough. “Just...give me until I come back from my trip, to decide?” You asked, biting your lip.

“Take all the time you need.” He smiled, leaning in to kiss you.

You smiled at him and kissed him back, before getting up to get dressed and rush off to work. You left on your business trip two days later, and both you and Clark called it, when the people in charge of the Wayne Biotech lab in Jordan would give you trouble and annoy the hell out of you. Your temples throbbed as you fell back on your hotel room bed, staring up at the ceiling, the arguments you had with the board still bouncing around your brain, making the migraine you had worse.

“Bunch of brain dead morons.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

A loud crash from outside your room door startled you up out of bed, you stumbled away as the door flew open, your back hitting the wall behind you as a disguised man stepped through the opening. The only thing you could see on him, was his eyes, and you didn't like what you saw in them. He advanced towards you, putting you into instant fight or flight mode, and decided to do both. Picking up the closest thing to you, the lamp on your bedside table, and launched it at him, before scurrying over your bed and making for the door. You'd almost made it down to the lift, when he caught up with you, grabbing you by the back of your hair and painfully yanking you backwards against him.

“Hello, Ms. Wayne.” A woman called stepping into the hall from another room.

“Who the fuck are you?” You panted, struggling against your captor. “What do you want?”

“I'm Pamela Evans.” She grinned at you, giving you a once over. “And I want to know about the advanced gene development project you and your brother are working on.”

“We're not working on gene development.” You growled, bearing your teeth at her.

“My sources say otherwise.” Pamela said, grabbing you by the jaw.

“Your sources are fucking brain dead.” You snapped, jerking your head out of her hand.

“I don't believe you.” She growled, giving you a super dirty look.

“That's your issue.” You growled back. “Wayne labs and Industries have never, and will never, do research on the type gene development, you're apparently going on about. Whoever is doing it, is a mad scientist asking for trouble.”

“You see,” Pamela brought her face inches from yours. “I've seen the files on your and Bruce's computers. So, you're going to tell me all about it.”

“You're delusional.” You shook your head the little you could with the man's hand still tight in your hair. “Fuck.” You gasped suddenly, feeling a cold tingle in your thigh and glanced down to see her pull a small pocket knife out. “You don't understand we're no....”

“No, sweetheart, it's you that doesn't understand.” Pamela mocked you, pulling something out of her shoulder purse. “We're going to get that research out of you, one way or another.” She pressed something to your neck and you felt a sharp pain. “I'll give you long enough to sleep off your nap, to tell me.” She said, as the black fog around the edges of your eyes grew and your body went limp.

You woke up God knows how long later, shackled to a concrete wall in a dimly lit room. There were no windows in the square concrete room, a single light set deep into the center of the ceiling and a metal table and a single chair below that. There was a thick metal door opposite of you with a slot window set in it. You were drawn to the sound of that opening, a pair of eyes looking in on you, then slamming shut again. It was several minutes before the actual door itself opened, and in walked Pamela and a man, the man from the hotel. Even with him out of his disguised, you could identify those eyes from a mile away.

“Good morning, Ms. Wayne.” Pamela smiled, giving you a smile that would have made Mary Poppins sick. “Or is it night, Eli?” She asked, turning to the man, who just shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn't matter, have you decided to give me the information I've asked for?” She asked, turning back to you.

“I told you, it doesn't exist.” You told her, groggy and fearful, your thigh throbbed and you could feel a small steady stream of blood ooze from it, leaving a puddle around your foot. “Messing with human genes is dangerous, and ridiculous.” You tried to reason with her.

“Then, what's this?” Pamela asked, pulling a sheet of paper from the table and bring it closer for you to see. “That's an email, from you to your brother on the subject. Telling him, that it was possible for such advancement.”

“It's opinion, not research.” You panted, trying to keep your anxiety at bay. “Someone at one of my brother's many business ventures wanted to know if he thought it was possible to do so, and my brother asked me.” You explained to her. “While, I think it might be possible for such development and advancement, neither of us are conducting research to find out. It's purely academic.”

“Why do you think it's possible?” Pamela questioned, turning her back to you and setting the paper back down on the table.

“I believe anything is possible, with the right circumstances and factors.” You told her, focusing on her back.

“Do you think you could achieve it, if you were to try it?”

“I don't know, and I wouldn't try.” You told her, honestly and shook your head at the thought.

“Even if, your life depended on it?” Pamela asked, smirking at you as she leaned back against the table, to look at you.

“My life, for the lives of all the failed test subjects it would more than likely take to prefect it?” You summed up her thoughts, you knew the math on how many people would be needed to be experimented on, and the decades it would take to achieve on top of that. “Yes, then I'd die, to prevent you and anyone else from trying it.” You nodded, confident in that choice.

“Well, let's see if we could,” She shrugged her shoulders, glancing at Eli. “persuade you.”

Eli dropped a rolled up bag onto the table with a emphasized thump, and rolled it open, revealing several instruments, you didn't need to be a Scientist to know were about to be used to torture and, likely, kill you. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to calm your heart and make peace with your choice. Eli removed something from one of the pockets, it looked like an ice pick or something, and moved over to you, running the sharp tip down your chest, between your breasts and down your stomach.

“Change your mind now, or I'll let Eli have his fun.” Pamela tried to give you a chance.

“No.” You said in a small, but steady voice.

Pamela waved her hand at Eli, and he easily sank the object into your stomach next to your belly button. You howled in pain, yanking on your bonds as Eli slowly removed it, grinning at you like a little boy on Christmas morning. Eli, luckily, didn't get far in the quest to torture you to death, as serious commotion sounded from the other side of the closed steel door, catching the attention of all three of you. Pamela looked to Eli, then hesitated for a moment, but she moved to the door, she'd just rested her hand on it, when it blew off the hinges, launching her halfway across the room. Eli dropped his weapon and moved away from you, as a figure stepped through the dusty doorway.

“Superman!” He snapped, jaw falling open.

Superman looked from Pamela under the heavy steel door, Eli backing up into a corner and You chained to the wall, head lulling and struggling to keep your heavy eyelids open to stay conscious. He wasted no time dispatching Eli, throwing him across the room as another figure stepped through the doorway and made for you, cupping your head in their hands.

“Y/n?”

You blinked several times, shaking your head and trying to clear way the heaviness in your mind. “Bruce?” You panted, recognizing your brother's voice through the fog.

“It's alright, sis.” Bruce reassured you, taking something out of the utility belt of his Batman suit and cutting you free. “We've got you now. You're safe.” He supported your weight against his body and turned to Clark, standing above Eli's lifeless body, in all his Superman glory.

Clark looked at the pair of you and the pure anger on his face melted, seeing you. “She's hurt.” He said, crossing the room to you, cupping your face in his hands. “She's bleeding internally, whatever they stabbed her with, nicked her intestines. If we don't stop the blood now, she'll bleed to death.”

“I have something on the plane.” Bruce said, lifting your shirt and grimacing at the wound to your stomach.

“It'll take too long.” Clark said, shoving everything off the metal table. “Lay her down, I'll cauterize the wound.”

“I'm not letting you heat vision my sister.” Bruce snapped, shaking his head and shifting your weight against him, to support you as you grew limper against him.

“Bruce, she's going to die, if I don't!” Clark barked, impatiently, resting his hand on your shoulder. “I know what I'm doing, I've done it before.” He tried to reassure him.

“Trust me.” He added, quietly.

Bruce sighed, and let Clark lift you up and lay you down carefully on the table. Clark peeled up your bloody shirt, biting his lip as he saw the wound to your stomach and noticed the one to your thigh. He glanced up through the opening and pressed his lips together, hearing more people coming.

“We've got more guests on the way.” He told Bruce, over his shoulder, trying to keep his focus on you.

“I'll deal with them.” Bruce said, moving around the table and out of the room.

“Y/n.” Clark whispered, resting his hand on your cheek. “Y/n, look at me.”

You blinked hard and groaned as Clark put pressure to your wound, you looked up at the blurry double face hovering above you. “Clark?” You whined, blinking repeatedly trying to clear the strange look your boyfriend had. “Clark?” You repeated his name, stronger this time, but no less confused by what you saw.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He forced a smile, brushing your hair out of your sweaty and grimy face. “I'm going to stop the bleeding, but it's going to hurt, a lot.” He warned you, with a pained expression. “But, you have to hold still and trust me.”

“I've always trusted you, Clark.” You groaned, wincing.

“Good.” He panted, sounding relieved. “Take my hand.” He told you, slipping his hand into yours. “And squeeze as hard as you have too, baby.” He instructed you, his eyes turning red.

You screamed at the top of your lungs at the excruciating burn to your already agonizing wound, squeezing Clark's hand so tight, it felt like the bones of your hand were going to shatter. You'd passed out from the pain and came to sometime later, finding yourself in bed on one of the family jets and Clark sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, holding your hand in his.

“Clark?” You whined, squeezing your eyes shut at the bright lights.

“You're all right, y/n.” He told you, letting your hand go to turn off the lights, and pull down the window covering. “You're safe now, love.” He promised, sitting back down next to you, and brushing his fingers through your hair.

“How?” You moaned, opening your eyes to look at him.

Clark blushed, looking away from you and biting into his lip.

“You're-” You blinked up at him, your mind finally connecting. “Superman.”

He nodded his head, taking your hand and rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

“That's why Bruce was so set against us.” You nodded, regretting it. “He didn't want me dating you because you're Superman, and you two are practically enemies.”

“We're not enemies anymore, y/n.” Bruce said, appearing in the room. “Clark and I are in Justice League together.”

“Jesus.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “The two most important people in my life, have lied to me, to such a degree.”

“We were trying to protect you.” Bruce tried to reason with you.

“Protect me?” You snapped, turning your head towards him. “That bitch kidnapped and tried torturing me, because she thought we were trying to do research on advanced gene development, Bruce. I can imagine what she'd have done if she knew by brother, is Batman, and my boyfriend, is Superman.” You looked at both of them, angrily.

“Advanced Gene Development?” Clark frowned at you. “Why would she think that?”

“Someone contacted Bruce about the possibility of it, and he and I discussed it.” You explained, no less angry. “She got a hold of the emails we exchanged on the subject, thinking we were actually doing it.”

“But, we're not.” Bruce frowned at you, as well. “I wonder how she got those emails as well, they're supposed to be secure.”

“Well, she's got people in a high enough place in the company to get a hand on them.” You snapped at him, annoyed. “Were you ever going to tell me, you're Superman?” You asked, turning your attention to Clark.

“I wanted too.” He whispered, dropping his eyes to your hand.

You rolled your eyes over to Bruce, narrowing them as he refused to look at you. “The fuck of men.” You growled, looking away from both of them.

“He's an alien.” Bruce mumbled, fidgeting with his watch.

“He's got a dick. I know, I've seen it.” You snapped at him, eye twitching. “He's a man. A man from another planet, but a man, nonetheless.”

“I didn't want to know that.” Bruce groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

“And, it's not your business what Clark decides to tell me.” You told him, sharply. “Especially, in reference to my and his relationship, Bruce.” You winced, pushing yourself up more against the pillows piled behind your back.

“You are my wa...”

“I haven't been your god damn ward for over ten years, Bruce!” You shouted at him. “That ended the hour I became eighteen, and you know it! Stop trying to be dad, you're not dad and you never fucking will be! He'd have let me be a long time ago, he'd let me be my own woman, instead of trying to control what I do with my life and who I see, whether they're from this planet or not.”

“I'm your brother, it's my job to protect you.” He shouted back, turning to you.

“Protect me!” You yelled, your voice cracking. “Not keep me prisoner and suffocate me!”

“Let's calm down.” Clark said in a calm voice, squeezing your leg.

“NO!” Both you and Bruce yelled at him at the same time, and making his sensitive ears twitch with the volume.

“You're staying home with me.” Bruce seethed at you, but his tone was quieter.

“Fuck you!” You barked, your voice still loud.

“You're not safe on your own, y/n.” He tried to reason with you, again. “Whoever these people are, who think we're doing advanced gene development, are going to try and get their hands on you again.”

“And you're safe, cause you're fucking Batman.” You mocked him, rudely.

“That,” Bruce snapped back at you, snarky. “and I'm not the head Scientist at the biggest Biotech laboratory, and company, in the world. You, out of anyone on this planet, can make that advanced development happen, and these people know this.”

“As I told that bitch,” You told him, crossing your arms. “I'd rather die. The decades it would take to perfect the genes for testing. Then, the number of lives, the trials would claim to attune the genes for the subject, is astronomical. If, I was the person that could manage to pull this off, perfect the genes, and find the correct subject for them; there's between a five to ten percent chance, it would even work.”

“What would such an advancement even be used for?” Clark asked, leveling an eyebrow at you.

“Anything.” You shrugged, looking at him, brows creased. “You could edit a person's genes for anything, from preventing certain illnesses. Body characteristics, like if you wanted them to be tall and muscular. You could delete genes, so they felt no pain or be more aware of it. You could engineer super soldiers, or make it possible for people to have a long life span. There's so many options, and they're only limited by imagination and technology.” You rubbed the crease between your brows, feeling a stress and tension migraine forming.

“You could create the Earth equivalent of me.” Clark summed it up, a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Yes.” You nodded, that thought hadn't occurred to you. “Pretty much.”

“So, do you understand, why you're not safe?” Bruce sighed, feeling the tension knot up his shoulders. “You need to be somewhere safe, until we get this sorted out.”

“They'll look for her anywhere Wayne Industries is affiliated.” Clark said, softly, rubbing at his neck and looking at Bruce.

“I can have Alfred find us a safe house for her.” Bruce agreed, nodding his head.

“I'll take her home with me.” Clark said, smiling gently at you.

“Your flat isn't safe.” Bruce stated, looking between the two of you.

“I know, it's not.” He answered, still watching you. “I mean, I'll take her to my mom's, in Smallville. No one's going to look for her in Kansas, it's such a small and middle of nowhere town. I'll take time off from the Daily Planet, and stay there with her to make sure she's looked after. My mother could use my help on the farm, anyway.”

“Is this your way of introducing me to your mother?” You grinned, teasingly.

Clark laughed, blushing and nodded his head. “I guess, it is a way to think of it.”

“I like his idea.” You told Bruce, looking at your brother. “He's got a point.”

Bruce sighed, his shoulders slumping, he was begrudged to agree with both of you on the subject. “I'll have the pilot redirect us towards Smallville.”

“You shouldn't.” Clark said, stopping Bruce as he headed out. “If anyone notices a Wayne plane landing at the airport in Great Bend, it'll be a dead giveaway, that's something's going on.”

“Then, how do you propose on getting y/n to your mother's farm?” Bruce asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

A lopsided smirk pulled on one corner of Clark's mouth as he looked at you, eyes sparkling. A slow grin pulled across your lips as you caught on to what Clark was suggesting, and you were more than cool with Superman flying you to his parent's farm. Bruce groaned as he figured out the same thing, rolling his eyes and throwing up his arms, he couldn't fight you two being together and he couldn't fight doing what he had to do, so you were safe.

“Fine.” He sighed, deflated. “We'll land in G.I. Airport as scheduled, and you can take y/n to Smallville from there.”

Clark nodded, pressing your knuckles to his lips. “We'll stop by my place, so we can get a couple changes of clothes before we go.”

“You have clothes at his place?” Bruce asked, looking at you, surprised.

“I've been staying at Clark's a lot the last couple of months, so it's just easier to keep some clothing there.” You answered, blushing at Clark. “He also asked me to move in with him.” You added.

“You never did get the chance to answer me.” He reminded you, glancing up at you.

“I know.” You replied, nodding and biting your lip.

Bruce looked at the two of you, then quietly excused himself and gave the pair of you space and privacy.

“I think, I'd like to move in with you, Clark.” You told him, carefully leaning forward and brushing your fingers through his short curly hair. “I want to take us more seriously.” You admitted, smiling sweetly at him.

“I'd love nothing less, than the same.” He smiled back at you, leaning in and kissing you, tenderly, on the lips.

You rested back, wincing that the discomfort of your stomach. You peeled back your shirt and grimaced at it, even though Clark had cauterized the wound, it still hurt and was tender as hell. Clark gently traced the tips of his fingers around the wound, mindful of sensitive areas and looked up at you, sadness in his blue eyes. You reached out and cupped his cheek in your hand, caressing his skin with your thumb and gave him back a similar sad expression, but one tinged with love and trust.

“It's going to take a bit of time for you to heal.” He told you, his fingers moving down to your torn and stained jeans, where Pamela stabbed you in the thigh. “You'll have scars...”

“I'm use to having scars.” You told him, resting your hand on his shoulder. “Inside and outside.”

The jet landed in Gotham International Airport, Clark easily carried you off the plane and to the car Bruce had waiting for the three of you. You rested your head on Clark's shoulder, you'd tried to sleep on the plane, but you couldn't get comfortable enough. Clark wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rested his cheek on top of your head. The chauffeur dropped the both of you off at Clark's flat, you said good-bye to Bruce, who promised to keep in touch and visit, if he could. You managed for first stairwell and a half up to Clark's flat before the pain in your leg became too much, and Clark carried you the last of the way up. He set you down on the couch and went into the bedroom, dumping his gym bag on his bed, then shoved yours and his clothes into it.

“Okay, I think that should tide us over.” He said, slinging the bag over his shoulders. “If not, I still have clothing at my mother's...”

“And I can always buy some.” You chuckled, smiling up at him. “So, how do we do this, Superman?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Let's go up to the roof.” He told you, going around the coffee table and picking you up into his arms. “It's a good launching pad, since this is the tallest building in a decent radius.” He explained, taking you up the stairs to the roof.

“I'm guessing that was a factor in your renting the place.” You teased him, hugging your arms around his neck.

Clark blushed at you, smiling guiltily. “It was.” He admitted, standing in the middle of the roof. “Hold on really tight and take a deep breath, hold it and I'll let you know, when to let it out, okay?” He explained to you, shifting your weight comfortably.

You nodded, hugging your arms tighter around his neck and took a few breaths, then held it. Giving you a nod of warning, Clark flexed and both of you rocketed into the clouds with an insane speed. What would have taken almost four hours, nonstop, on a normal flight, took less than twenty minutes for Clark to achieve. You panted as he carefully set you down on the dirt driveway of his childhood home. You heard the screen door open and saw a beautiful, older woman step out onto the porch, shading her eyes from the mid afternoon sun.

“Clark?” She called, taking a step down off the porch.

“Hey, Mom.” Clark grinned at her, his hand slipping into yours. “Mom, this is y/n.” He introduced you as she came closer to you both.

“She's the one you've been telling me about?” She asked, grinning at you, brightly. “It's so nice to finally meet you.” She said, giving you a hug.

“It's nice to finally meet you as well, Mrs. Kent.” You smiled, hugging her back.

“Oh, please, call me Martha.” She told you, holding you at arm's length, making your heart skip a beat, finding out the Clark's mother's name was the same as your own mother. “What are you two doing here?”

“Um,” Clark blushed, looking down at Hank as he sniffed around his feet. “There was a bit of trouble, and I need somewhere safe to keep y/n, until her brother and I figure it out.” He told his mother, patting the dog on the head.

“What kind of trouble?” Martha asked, looking between the two of you, and noticed the blood on your jeans and shirt. “Good lord.” She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Mom, it'll be all right.” Clark said, resting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her into a hug. “I'm staying here with you guys, I'll help you around the farm. I know there's a few projects dad started and that I promised to finish.” He pulled back, smiling at her encouragingly.

She stood there, quietly looking up at her son, worried and concerned, but you could see that hint of relief on her face, as well. “Why don't we get you two inside.” She said finally, turning and motioning to the house.

Relieved himself, Clark picked you back up and carried you up onto the porch, stopping as he caught the look on your face. “What is it?”

“I feel like you're carrying me over the threshold, on our wedding night.” You chuckled, resting your hand on his cheek as he blushed.

“I'd be a lucky man, to have you as my wife.” He smiled, teasing you and kissing you softly on the lips as he walked into the house.

Clark carried you upstairs to his bedroom, flicking the light on and setting you down on the double bed. He dropped the bag on the floor and pushed open the window, letting in the cool late summer breeze into the room. with the sound of the wind ruffling the corn stalks, tree branches and tall grass. It felt surreal to you, even the few times you stayed at the country cottage Bruce bought you, there was a busy road not far from it, so you never completely lost the busy city feel. But, here in Smallville, there was none of that, you were literally miles from the busiest road, just endless farm fields, nature and the occasional bark from Hank down in the yard.

“It's so quiet.” You commented, laying back in his bed and grinning at the hanging planets above it.

“Is that going to bother you, city girl?” Clark teased, sitting next to you on the bed, looking up at the planets with you, and tenderly rubbing your good thigh.

“I find it disconcerting, that I can hear my own thoughts without them being interrupted by a car horn, siren or someone yelling a rude comment at someone else.” You teased back, with a giggle. “But, I love how peaceful it is.” You added, in a softer tone, eyes flicker back to his.

“That's one of the things I love about being raised here.” He told you, shifting to lay down on his back, beside you. “It took me a long time to hone my powers, so I didn't hear every huge and microscopic thing. I would sit in the corn field, and just zone everything out, except the sound the stalks made when the wind rustled them, or fixate on a bird, singing in its nearby nest.”

“Are they hard to deal with in a city like Metropolis?” You asked, turning your head to look at him, slipping your hand into his.

“At first it was, cause there's so much sound and its so quick, if that makes sense.” He answered, still looking at the planets. “But, over time, I fine tuned it, and I'm able to control it now, no matter where I am.” He explained, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“That's good.” You smiled, shifting uncomfortably.

Clark turned his head towards you, sensing your pain. “Can I do anything?” He asked, brushing his fingertips over your cheek.

“Not unless one of your super powers, is relieving pain.” You quipped, weakly.

“Sadly, I don't have that super power.” He frowned, sympathetically. “How about a bath instead?” He offered. “Get you cleaned up and into clean clothes, the hot water might even help.”

You let your eyes drift shut at the thought of a nice hot bath, washing off all the grim, dry sweat and blood off your body. “Join me?” You asked, tilting your face towards him, hopeful.

A grin pulled across his lips, and he sat up on the edge of the bed. “Can you make it that far?” He asked, motion to the bathroom door on the other side of the room with a raise of an eyebrow.

“If I can't limp three hops to the bathroom.” You said, sitting up beside him. “You might as well put me down.” You chuckled, but the glint in Clark's eye told you, he didn't find it funny. “I can make it.” You told him, kissing his cheek and propelling yourself up and hopped into the bathroom. “Tah-dah!”

That did make Clark smile, getting up to join you. He helped you peel off your shirt, unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans, carefully tugging them down over your wound. He hadn't cauterized the wound there, Pamela had managed to miss any major or troublesome veins, so it had stopped bleeding sometime ago. It still cut through muscle and nerves, making it hard and largely uncomfortable to walk, or limp for that matter. Letting you lean back against the sink, Clark drew the bath and helped ease you into, before taking off his own clothing. You slid forward, letting him slip in behind you and then eased back, resting against his broad and strong chest, melting as his arms locked around you, his chin resting on top of your head. You both just rested in the hot bath, eyes closed and enjoying the safe and peaceful tranquility of the moment. You could hear Clark's mom bumping around downstairs, humming to herself.

“She's making dinner.” Clark suddenly said, as he read your mind.

“Hm.” You hummed, feeling your stomach growl as the mention of food. “It sounds, and smells, amazing.” You commented back, resting your hands on his as they rested on your waist.

“You want some help, cleaning up?” He asked, tilting his head to look at you.

“How can I say no, to a handsome man, offering to wash me?” You laughed, nodding your head.

“You can't.” Clark laughed, softly, into your ear, pressing his lips to your neck.

Clark let you sit up, between his legs, and picked up the soap and a wash cloth. It felt incredible to have his strong hands on your body, rubbing the soapy cloth into your skin and massaging the tight and stressed knots of muscle in your back. He was mindful of your wounds, rinsing away the soap, before letting your hair down, attentively pouring water over your head to wet your hair, then gently working the shampoo into your hair and scalp, making you moan at the amazing feel. Hair and body washed, Clark helped you out of the tub and dry off, you limped back into his bedroom, picking the bag up off the floor and digging through it for your clothes, while Clark took a shower. You limped downstairs, looking at all the family photos that lined the wall going down the steps, smiling at the younger Clark. You found Martha in the kitchen, stirring something that was in the pot on the stove.

“See you got cleaned up.” She said, smiling as she noticed you standing in the kitchen doorway. “Must feel nice after what you've been through.”

“Incredibly so.” You nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen island. “Dinner smells good.” You complimented her.

“Thank you.” She answered, giving you another smile. “So, tell me, how did you and Clark meet?” She asked, putting a lid on the pot and turning to you.

You blushed, brushing your wet hair behind your ear. “I met him, when he was doing an article on the Charity Gala my brother, Bruce and I, were hosting. He interviewed me at it, and we just kept running into each other, until we fell in love.” You told her, smiling.

“Your brother, Bruce?” Martha asked, brow slowly creasing. “Bruce Wayne? You're Bruce Wayne's sister?”

“I am.” You nodded, frowning back at her.

“He's the one that helped Clark and I get the house back.” She told you, her eyes a bit glassy at the memory.

“Get your house back, how did he do that?”

“Clark was...gone for a while, and while he was away I fell behind in the bank payments, and they foreclosed on the house.” She explained to you, turning back to the stove, needing a psychical distraction. “Your brother and Clark are friends, and he helped us get the house back from the bank.”

“The Smallville Union Bank?” You asked, lifting an eyebrow at her back.

“Yes, you know it?” Martha asked, looking at you over her shoulder.

“Yeah...” You nodded slowly, shocked. “My brother, he bought the bank, out right...” You told her, glancing around as it struck you why Bruce had bought the bank.

“He did it,” Clark's voice came suddenly. “as a gift to me.” he explained, sliding into the seat beside you.

“That's so incredibly sweet of him.” Martha beamed at the two of you, touched.

“It really is.” You agreed, dumbstruck, and looking at Clark, who offered you a small smile, his hand squeezing your knee.

You'd stayed on the Kent farm for nearly two months before Bruce finally did come to visit. He hadn't even so much as call, or send any other type of communication to you, while you were there. He feared that if he did, the people that hurt you would pick up where you were and come after you. So, when he showed up on the porch early one morning, you knew it was because he'd found something out about the people wanting to know about the Advanced Gene Development.

“Bruce?” You said, stepping out on to the porch with him, you'd healed well enough by now that you only had a minor limp. “Did you find out anything?” You asked, feeling your anxiety rise.

Clark had been asleep upstairs, and sensed the rise in your anxiety, he'd become quite attuned to you in the past two months, even more so than he had the year you two spent together back in Metropolis. He figured it was because you two spent every waking moment together, from sun up to sun down, you'd just become synced to him. You also found you really liked the small life of Smallville, quiet and not many people, helping Martha in her garden, and Clark on various of the farm projects; he'd even taught you how to fix the tractor in the barn. So, when he sensed your anxiety, even while dead asleep, he was up and at the screen door in a microsecond.

“Clark.” Bruce greeted him, lifting an eyebrow at the fact Clark was only in his boxers.

“Bruce.” He greeted him back, unbothered.

“I came with news.” Bruce said, turning his eyes back to you.

“Well?” You pressed, sitting down on the porch swing.

“Seems three of the CEOs in the company were working for Pamela Evans, she'd corrupted them.” he started to explain, pacing the length of the porch, which gave you an even more unsettled feeling. “They, ironically, call themselves, the Council,”

“How ominous.” You rolled your eyes, rocking back and forth on the swing.

“It was a rogue group, trying to reproduce and enhance humans,” He looked at Clark, and sighed. “to try and fight any more aliens that might try and take over the planet.”

“Such as Superman.” You understood, glancing at Clark yourself.

“Luckily, they're a small group and easily taken care of.” Bruce went on, leaning back against the porch railing. “I've tracked down most of them, and dispatched them. But, there's one person left, the leader of the group.”

“Pamela wasn't?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No.” Bruce shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Then, who is?” Clark asked, moving to sit on the swing with you.

“His name is Oliver Maddox.” He sighed, rubbing his scruffy face. “He has a very small and faint paper trail, a trail that leaves behind a lot of bodies.” He pressed his lips together, looking at you with a down turned face.

“So, where is Maddox?” Clark asked, on edge.

“I was hoping, you'd help me find him, Clark.” Bruce told him, lifting his head. “If we can eliminate him, then the group will fall apart, and y/n will be safe again.”

“Give me everything you have on him,” Clark told him, adamant. “And I'll take care of him.”

The tone of Clark's voice worried you, but you trusted him. Bruce gave Clark the file on Oliver Maddox, but declined to stay at the farm, even for breakfast, saying he had pressing matters to deal with inside Wayne Industries. You understood that with the corrupted CEOs he had to get rid of, there would be a lot of paperwork and damage control to take of. You sat on Clark's bed after breakfast, worried over the prospect of Clark going after Oliver Maddox, and potentially killing him.

“Y/n.” Clark whispered, leaning against the door jam, and frowned when you didn't answer him. He pushed off the door frame and moved to you, cupping your face in his hands. “Y/n.” He said your name, even softer this time.

You blinked up at him. “You're going to kill him, aren't you?” you asked, quietly.

Clark sank to his knees, moving his hands to hold both of your in his, pressing his lips to your fingers. “If I have to, then, I will.” He whispered, against your knuckles. “But, I will bring him to justice, and keep you safe, y/n.”

You leaned forward and kissed him, deeply, holding his head in your hands. Clark slipped his hands up your arms, gripping your shoulders for a moment, before his hands glided down your back and his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him, so your legs wrapped around him. He stood up, supporting you with one arm under your butt, turning long enough to close the bedroom door, and lay you back down on the bed. He pulled your sweats and panties off, shoving down his boxers enough to get himself free. You ran your fingers through his hair, fingertips caressing his neck and shoulders, nails racking, harshly, down his lean back and dug into his round ass, making him moan and growl into your neck as he sucked on it. His hands went behind your knees, pushing them farther up and rubbing himself against you, causing you to moan around your trapped lip as you bit into it, and you felt his cock grow and harden against your wet core.

“Clark.” You mewled, breathless, using the advantage of your hands grasping his plentiful ass to jerk his hips against you.

“Y/n.” He groaned back, his eyes squeezing shut at the feel of you.

Sex between the two of you had always been balanced and gentle, but this time it wasn't, it felt desperate and rough, like you needed to keep each other grounded by pure force. Clark rocked his hips into you, driving himself deeper into you each time, your hands moved up his back, hooked under his arms and around to his shoulders, nails breaking the skin at the top of his shoulders and making Clark hiss. The headboard knocked against the bedroom wall to the uneven and hard thrusts, catching Martha's attention as she walked into the house from picking vegetables from the garden, for that night's dinner. She looked up at the ceiling, hearing the faint noises the two of you were making, even above the banging headboard, blushed and shook her head.

“Let's go take a walk, Hank.” She called to the border collie, setting the vegetable basket on the counter. “Give the kids some space.” She chuckled, holding open the back door for the dog and following him out.

“I love you.” You moaned, pulling Clark into a kiss as you both came, needing the taste of him on your lips.

“I love you too, y/n.” Clark moaned into your mouth, brushing your hair out of your face.

It was the screen door slamming that woke you up an hour later, you found yourself alone and knew what was going on. You yanked on your sweats and ran down the stairs, your thigh throbbing from the excretion. Clark was standing a few feet away from the porch, long red cape blowing in the gentle breeze, he turned to you, the breath and words you were starting to form stuck in your throat, seeing him fully decked out in his Superman suit. It defined every muscle you worshiped and hugged the amazing curve of his ass. But, it made a huge swelling of pride burst from inside your chest, and a smile crossed your lips. You looked him in the eye, both of you smiling, both of you knowing what he was going to do, and why. Your feet didn't even touch the porch steps as your ran for him and found yourself wrapped up in his arms, his lips on yours.

“Go get them, Superman.” You whispered against his lips. “And don't be late for dinner, Clark.” You added, chuckling as you stepped back.

“I will, and I won't be.” He grinned, then shot up into the sky, a sonic boom punctuating his ascent, before he vanished into the clouds.

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nissakii · 3 years ago

Text

Scent. a Haikyu!! Fanfiction pt.18

[want to read all chapters right now? Our fanfictions get updated every monday on our blog, click here to continue reading!]

"I didn't expect you here"

With a twirl I turned around to the low voice that addressed me, waving my hand as a greeting and shoving my bag on the floor to free the seat for him.

His arm was raised as a reaction to my greeting and he brought up a small 'hey' before sitting down next to me.

The lecture hall started to fill steadily, although there weren't as many people as normal. The seats and rows climbed up the auditorium and were made to hold up to 300 students, yet only about 30 entered with murmurs rippling through the small crowd.

Looking forward you could see five stations with chairs and makeshift walls propped up, making it impossible to look through the walls if the curtains were drawn. I was slightly confused as to why we would need something like that in an anatomy class though.

Oh.

Are we going to dissect animals?

That would make sense!

AS this was a class I only took for my personal interest and not really for credit and my studies, I didn't get to read the syllabus yet. It was hard enough to even get into this course, there were only two this semester.

What a coincidence that he was here too.

Oikawa had packed up his bag but was more quiet than usual, with a quick dip into his bag he fished out a thick black notebook with colourful small bookmarks adorned around it.

I watched him intently as he opened a certain passage and flipped through it with quick motions as he seemed to search for something. My eyes were seemingly glued to the neatly jotted notes as he grazed his fingers over the words.

"Ah", he announced and he quickly brought up a pen to scribble something next to his bullet points.

Fully immersed as he was, I didn't want to interrupt his moment of silence, but as he kept rereading the same passage the professor came in and his eyes drifted back to me.

Smiling fully, I expected him to say something but there was no reply in his expression.

"Is everything alright?", I asked him.

"Huh"?, he jolted slightly but only a bit as he looked away and at me again.

"Yeah, I'm fine thank you"

There it was, his signature smile. Something felt foreign about it, like the distance between him and his surroundings getting bigger.

"Ah, I'm glad! Aren't you excited about this class"

The pen between his fingers wiggled back and forth and his gaze grew distant as he caught the makeshift wall block at the front of the hall.

"I mean sure, it's just a little weird I guess", his hand trailed up to his neck as he rubbed it, "do you have to take this for biochemistry?"

Slightly taken aback I forgot I actually told him about my major.

Right, the lab.

"Nope! But I really was interested in medicine before I started biochem, so I tried to at least get into some pre-med classes on a whim!"

He chuckled lightly, but something about it all felt uncomfortable to me.

Am I missing something?

Well, are you cool with the stuff in this course? I mean", and his gaze trailed away just a tad before meeting me again, "it's a little intense".

Intense?

I knew this was an anatomy class, is he talking about lower parts and stuff?

Or like animals and dissections?

I get it, there's probably a lot of people who can't see blood or something.

"Oh no, I'm totally cool with that stuff! It's like, natural right?"

His eyes widened for a short moment, and at this point I really thought I was imagining things, but why was he reacting so weirdly?

"Uh, yeah. Natural", he mumbled a little lower than before.

Maybe I should lighten the mood? Is he worried?

"Like, I've done stuff like that before so it's totally cool", I nodded to myself.

It was true, I remembered that one time my mom taught me how to prepare a chicken.

That counts as dissecting.

Yeah, totally.

Placing my head onto my hand leisurely I looked back at Oikawa, who now most definitely had some sort of problem.

His head was placed on the desk as he groaned.

"Wow dude, are you okay?", I asked and got closer to him as I inhaled a whiff of really stale coffee.

He's really stressed about something.

I mean it's a new semester, it makes sense that he's preoccupied.

"So...", his voice rumbled through the desk and sounded a little dull so I held my head a little closer to him out of instinct.

"You're experienced with this stuff? It doesn't bother you?"

So he was worried!

I knew it.

"Totally!", this time he snapped his head up and looked me up and down as if I was absolute batshit crazy.

Hey.

You're getting rude.

"I'- I'm sorry that's none of my business", he mumbled and turned to the side, and before I could retort something we both snapped our heads to the door as the professor placed his bag loudly on the desk.

Well.

Let's just say I was shocked at the organizational part of the lecture.

Afterwards, my beet red face was buried in my hands and stale coffee turned back into the normal scent I was used to.

Still, I was probably smelling burnt at this point.

"Uhm", I trailed slowly as I let the events of the last few minutes recap in my head.

Hands on anatomy class.

Mandatory group work.

Palpations.

Percussions.

As I looked to the side, Oikawa who had pulled out his booklet again, I caught his finger sitting on a highlighted part of his notes.

Taking a medical history: Palpations and Percussions.

Wait.

His eyebrows were scrunched and he looked like he wanted to hit something, his coffee scnet strong as ever but not as fresh as I was used to.

He knew?

Oh my god.

My mind was raking through the things I’ve said before, and now I realised why he was so standoffish the whole entire time.

I told him I’m experienced with this.

I told him I’ve done this before.

If it were possible to send a plea and just get swallowed whole by a gaping hole underneath me, I would gladly take the chance.

The professor kept talking about the ways to take a medical history, and that we would focus on the practical part of the anatomy and teach us how to properly examine a patient. After the organizational part which was still reverberating in my mind, he explained how we will be divided into groups and work with tutors that will teach us everything.

“The pre-meds here will need this for their medical school applications and some others of you might study law and forensics, but there’s also some of you here that are just curious. So we will take this all step by step and have a good semester ahead of us!”, he clapped into his hands and started to roll up his sleeves.

With all the thoughts in my brain I couldn’t even take the chance to observe the professor. He was of smaller height and had bristles of curly black hair and a constant smile plastered in his face.

He seemed extremely nice and from what I Still remembered from the start was that he worked a lot with athletes.

Interesting. Must be cool to have a class in which all kinds of majors and minors clash together. I really thought this was going to be a medical only class.

“So!”, and with the professor's words five other students who were all seemingly older approached the front and each took a seat at one of the makeshift booths, “I have an alphabetized list here and as we are exactly 30 students we will form six groups of five students! I will put the names on the board and mark attendance as I go!”

My throat started to close up as I felt the reality of the situation dawning on me. No only was it possible that I had to touch a random person half-naked, or even be touched half-naked.

No.

There will be five pairs of eyes on me while doing so.

“I mean you can still leave”, his voice made me jump as he brought me from my internal monologue and I looked to the side again. He probably either picked up my scent or just knew what to say in the moment.

Oikawa had his eyes averted a little bit but caught my panicked gaze.

He’s right. I could. I didn’t need this for credit, and it definitely wouldn’t hurt me in any way. Would be a shame for the allocated place as it took a lot of time to actually get into this course but… Nothing keeps me here.

Technically.

I could go up to the professor, tell him there was a misunderstanding and I didn’t read the syllabus and I could leave! It would be easy.

Easy.

I inhaled sharply as I realized the complete opposite would be true.

The professor would obviously ask me why I wanted to leave! Why would someone get into a course like this that had limited resources just to leave on the first day?! Wouldn’t that be extremely rude?

Closing my eyes I visualized myself walking to the professor, him looking at me with confusion but nodding as I walked to the door. Everyone's eyes on me as they ask themselves why the cowards leave.

What a joke!

“No way!”, I blurt out in a whisper.

No way I’m giving this up now. I wanted to take a course like this and I signed up for it to be grueling or gross, this is just a medical thing.

I caught Oikawa still looking at me, and when I turned around in my seat to him he looked a little taken aback.

He’s here too.

I can totally do this.

“I-It’s fine I’m staying”, my voice didn’t sound as steady as I wanted it to, so I threw out a forced smile to appear totally fine.

Totally fine.

I might just get groped.

All of the concerns resurface again before they were cut off by the professor calling my name out.

“Here!”, I called and walked downwards in the direction of the booths. With a nod he acknowledged me and ushered me towards the last booth.

A tutor was already sitting there, and to my surprise she was female. At least that made me more comfortable and she greeted me with a smile.

She was sitting on a stool that was surrounded by a half circle of five others, presumably for us. She gestured for me to sit down and we waited for the rest of the students to be assigned.

“Hello”, she chimed at the other students and I noticed Oikawa with them.

Of course. Alphabetical order.

Ohara.

Oikawa.

I slumped my shoulders that were way too tense just to relieve some pressure, but it really didn’t help. Mx heart was still thrumming, and I wasn’t sure if it was anticipation or anxiety. My feet kicked upwards in a rhythm as I waited, and I felt a shift next to me as Oikawa sat down.

“Okay, that should be everyone!”, the girl chimed and introduced herself with a sweet tone, “My name is Misaki Hana and I am a first year med student. Today we will start off again like Takeda said with palpations and percussions!”

A rumble went through the group and I caught some other younger girls and guys looking very intimidated by this whole ordeal.

“First and foremost, I can understand that you’re all nervous and I’m totally okay if you guys are hesitant, but”, and she let her words hang in the room before her gaze turned very serious, “I expect you all to respect each other and be mature. Whoever is sitting on my stool soon will be in a very vulnerable position. No playing around, alright?”

We all nodded in unison and Misaki gave us a look of approval before looking around.

“Allright, I will get right to it and show you guys what we will be doing. Every session we will have someone else on the ‘hot seat’ so it stays fair to all”.

She grabbed a couple of utensils from a side table, one of them being a fuzzy stick that almost looked like a Q-tip.

“As most of you only know of palpations from textbooks at best, I’m gonna go with a male first to make all of this a little easier alright? Ladies, your time is coming too, no worries''.

I wasn’t sure if I should be glad or even more terrified, as I was surely not being groped today but the future still hung loosely in front of me.

Also, what if I have to palpate?

“Can I have you please?”, I followed Misaki’s finger to see who she was referring to, but before I could register anything, Oikawa already got up with a nod and walked towards her.

Oh my god.

My whole body tensed and my ears felt like they were filled with cotton as I could only observe Misaki’s conversation with Oikawa. SOmething about only the top and ‘we’re starting light today’ and before I registered the rest he grabbed the hem of his shirt and threw it over his head.

As his head popped out of the shirt he shook his head vigorously and laughed a little with the fabric in his hands.

“You’re quick at that huh?”

Misaki’s comment made me raise a brow and look at Oikawa’s reaction, who started to fold the shirt and gently place it on the side table.

“Ah, well quick changes happen often as an athlete”, he reassured and sat down on the stool.

As if the whole situation just shifted, I caught his eyes when he turned to face us all.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he sat there exposed, his skin completely soft and clear.

I felt my face heating up out of embarrassment when he smirked a little bit, and my eyes immediately wandered into another direction.

Mhm. That’s a nice floor.

“Well, before I start. I know it’s pretty uncomfortable. But this will in some dorts be your job soon. Be professional. You need to look, feel and access to actually learn.

Look.

My head whipped up and I found our tutor standing behind Oikawa, her hands on the sides of his neck.

“You inspect the neck first. Prod with all fingers at the sides then move up just below his jawline right here. Why?”

“We check for the lymph nodes?”, a guy answered and Misaki hummed a yes.

Her fingers trailed down to his shoulders and kept pushing into the flesh with calculated moves.

For a second I totally forgot where we were, because the bits of information and the actual praxis of the palpations looked extremely interesting. It reminded me of the moments where I wanted to study medicine myself.

“Now we move to the chest with the percussions. One hand splayed on one side of the chest, the other hand makies a sudden and limb movement to knock against your own middle finger”, she demonstrated the move as a hollow sound bounced through the small booth. I looked at the tutors' movements.

Not in a single moment did I actually look into Oikawa’s face again, but immediately after I thought that I instinctively stole a glance.

Oh.

As if it were nothing, he looked around the room or followed the traces of Misaki’s hands, obviously a little nervous but more bashful than anything else.

Something about that irked me, did he not care about being touched in front of all of us?

Maybe that was the professionals Misaki was talking about.

Hm.

“Alright! All done! Was that so bad?”, she looked at us as we shook our heads and at Oikawa who had his arms leisurely hangin in his lad as he smiled and shook his head as well.

“Okay then, you’re up!”

Oikawa’s smile fell as Misaki ushered me to the stool, and I realised that all of that was just the first step to the lecture.

This was just the beginning.

…

“You have to actually palpate the skin, if you can’t feel the tissue you won’t be able to diagnose”

“Y-Yes”, I rasped out as my hands pushed a little harder into Oikawa’s shoulders.

What is happening.

My mind was racing with all the comments Misaki was making, as I tried to follow her instructions thoroughly. Meanwhile Oikawa was just hangin his head low, probably to be more comfortable as I nearly stabbed his back.

Okay.

Focus.

I knew where the lines were supposed to be, I knew where to push as Misaki instructed me, but with every centimeter that I had to go lower I felt a shift in his body.

Sometimes it was just a shiver and I apologized, sometimes it was a sudden but very light spasm when I prodded near his chest.

“Okay, now just finish it off with two percussions on his chest to check what?”

“The lungs?”, I asked quietly and I felt a rumble in my hands as Oikawa snickered.

“We check for fluid in the lungs”, he rumbled beneath me and I pursed my lips.

That’s basically what I said.

With a strong push I placed my hand on his chest a little too quickly, and I hadn't realised that I actually touched his nipple until he cleared his throat.

AHHH!

I swallowed my absolute embarrassment and just quickly knocked against my own fingers to check the lungs, and when Misaki nodded in approval I turned away immediately and sat down on my assigned seat.

With a quick peek I looked up to Oikawa, who I was ready to look smugly back at me, but something closed in my throat as I saw the slight blush creeping on his cheeks.

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